Bó na Leathadhairce

 

Thíos cois na toinne ’sea beathaíodh mo chaora

Ag Diarmuid Ó Díoláin ó Bharra na hUíne

Mac dearthár athar dom a chuir le h-aill í

Easpa tobac a bhí ar an gcladhaire.

 

Curfá/Chorus:

 

Bó, bó, bó na leathadhairce

Bó, bó, ’sí an tsean-chaor adharcach

Bó, bó, bó na leathadhairce

Bó dhroimeann dhearg is ní fheadair cá bhfaighinn í

 

B’fhearr liom ná scilling go bhfeicfinn mo chaora

’Teacht go chun an dorais ar maidin nó istóiche

Thálfadh sí bainne dhom, bheathódh sí uan dom

Chuirfeadh sí seaicéidín deas ar mo ghualainn.

 

Chonacsa beirithe í, chonacsa á roinnt í

Chuireas-sa dúil inti ach blaise ní bhfaighinn di

Ó nár dheas í, ó nár mheidhreach

Ó nár dheas í an tsean-chaor adharcach.

 

Dá mbeinnse i rachmas, i ngradam ‘s in oidhreacht

Thabharfainnse giní ar chúpla slaghas di

Ó nár dheas í, ó nár mheidhreach

Ó nár dheas í an tsean-chaor adharcach.

 

D’íosfainn lán píce dhi, d’íosfainn lán oighinn di,

D’íosfainnse stráice den tseana chaora adharcach

Ó nár dheas í! ó nár mheidhreach!

Ó nár dheas í an tsean-chaor adharcach

 

 

An Buachaill Caol Dubh

Thugas céad searc don mBuachaill Caol Dubh,

 

Ar fheabhas a mhéin is ar a mhaise snó.

Dá dhá shúil ghléineach mar dhrúcht an fhéir ghlais,

Dá dhá ghrua néamhrach ar dhath an róis.

Dá chuachaibh néata mar chnuasach sméar dubh,

Is gluais ón ngréin orthu maidin fhómhair

Ach b’é a chómhrá béil sin sa teanga Ghaoluinn,

A mheall thar aon rud mo ghean dá chló.

 

Ar fheis nó ar aonach ní fheicim éinne,

A d’eachtródh scéal leis sa tsean-nós;

A rincfeadh tréanphort ar bhinse taobh leis,

Nó a chasfadh dréacht leis i gceart a’ cheoil,

Agus deir gach aon fhear, “seo chughainn an réice

Beidh báire laochais anso go fóill,”

Nuair is chúcha léimeann an Buachaill Caol Dubh

Is a chamán gléasta ‘na ghlaic chun spóirt.

 

Do casadh Aoibhill na Craige Léithe orainn,

A'gabháil an tslí is do ghaibh liom báidh;

Is dúirt dá ngéillfeadh an Buachaill Caol Dubh

Go dtabharfadh céad fear dó suas ‘m áit.

Do labhair an caol-fhear go gonta géar lé,

Is dúirt ná tréigfeadh a charaid ghnáth,

‘S gur shiúil sé Éire tré choillte 's réidh-chnoic

Le cumann cléibhe is le searc im dheoidh.

 

Agus dúirt sé féin liom de mhóid a bhéil ghil,

Gur mise an t-aon bhean ina thigh a gheobhad,

Is gur b’fhearr leis féinig mé, gan feoirling spré liom

Ná toicí an Bhéarla is a gcárnaibh óir;

Is a shiúr na n-ae ‘nam, ná creid-se ó éinne

Nach é an faisean Gaolch is fearr mar nós,

Mar ‘sé do bhréagfadh an Buachaill Caol Dubh

Is uaisle tréith, ‘gus is gile meon.

 

 

Gold Hills

Kate Burke

 

Sun finds its way through the trees

And it scatters itself on the road

Fire turned gentle by leaves

 

Fire made sweeter by the hint of a breeze

And I think of the turn of your toes

Curled up on a rock where the aquaduct flows

I want to walk barefoot on soft dusty roads

With your footprints right alongside.

 

Cos there' s a knot that's tied

As though you were my brother or my child

But you were just some stray thing that I found

Down amongst the tailings and the stones.

 

Where the gold hills shine

I climb up the cliff-face and down the lee side

Stand on a shelf rock and leap out and dive

And swim to where the creek runs wide

By veranda light

We lean on the railing and whistle to the night

Take my candle and set it right and show me inside.

 

For I know in time

There will be no you and none of me

Just a pile of rocks and an ironbark tree.

 

 

An Chiúrach Bhléinfhionn

 

Chuaigh Eoghan ar an aonach is thug sé bó leis,

Ar chúig phúint óir agus coróin mar éarlas,

Bhí ceathrar, cúigear ag brú at an chéile,

Féachaint cé a chrúfach an Chiúrach Bhléinfhionn;

Is a dtuigeann tú mo chás , a bhean a tábhairne gan aon locht.

 

Is duine bocht Eoghan gan chomhairle ó éinne,

Níor thuig sé in am gur leamhnacht dhaor í,

Is mion ‘s is minic a chuirinn chun mo bhéil í,

Ach go soitheach na cuiginne níor cuireadh riamh braon di;

Is a dtuigeann tú mo chás , a bhean a tábhairne gan aon locht.

 

Is bó gan rath, gan lacht, gan lao í,

Is bó bhodhar bhalbh ná freagraíonn d’éinne í,

 

Is bó í go dtagann bruíon dá droim is éirleach,

Agus uisce na draoibe dá dhíol mar dhaorphuins;

Is a dtuigeann tú mo chás , a bhean a tábhairne gan aon locht.

 

Cuirfeam-na cóir ar an mbó más féidir,

Sagart ón Róimh féna chlócaí gléigeal;

Mara dtiocfaidh sé chughainn le n-a thiúin bhreá Bhéarla,

Glaoifaimíd chughainn á crú an cléireach;

Is a dtuigeann tú mo chás , a bhean a tábhairne gan aon locht.

 

Má thuigeann tú mo chás cuir im’ láthair braon de,

Go n-ólfad sláinte na mná atá ‘na haonar,

‘Na suí ar an stól fé dhrúcht na spéireach ,

Ag crú a bó is ná hólann sí braon de;

Is a dtuigeann tú mo chás , a bhean a tábhairne gan aon locht.

 

Ní raghad ar a’ gCarraig, faid a mhairfead, dá haoireacht,

Ní lú ná rachad ná go Baile ‘n Fhirtéaraigh;

Ach go Bail’Uí Bhoithín mar a bhfuil croí geal na féile,

Agus go dtálfaidh an chiúrach ansúd gan aon tsop,

Is a dtuigeann tú mo chás , a bhean a tábhairne gan aon locht.

Is a dtuigeann tú mo chás, a chean a tábhairne ‘tá taobh liom.

‘S Ar Maidin Moch is Mé ar mo Leabain Bhoig

Máire Bhuí Ní Laoghaire

 

 

‘S ar maidin moch is mé ar mo leabain bhoig

 

‘sea chuala ceol na n-éan;

mar ‘sea a smaoíníos-sa ó ba chóir dom dul

ag muscailt stoic chun féir,

mar ‘sea bhuail sí liom ‘s a caidhp ina hucht

‘s í ag cíoradh a foilt go réidh,

an chúileann ghlic do b’áille crot

ná an eala ar shruth an éisc.

 

Is mo chroí do chrith dá fhiafrái di

Cén tír gurb as an bhé:

‘Nó tú Clíona ghlic a chuir draíocht is broid

is d’fhág ina raic an Trae,

 

nó an tú Deirdre a thug grá cléibh is cion

nó Naois ‘ do cailleadh léi,

nó an bhean do rug lé háilleacht crot

an t-úll ó iomaidh ghéir?’

 

Is do labhair sí liom, ‘Ó, a shéimhfhir, suigh,

Go neosfad duit brí mo scéil,

Mar ní stuaire mé do ghluais anoir

Ná a mhuscail cath na Trae;

Ach de natives chirt d’Uíbh Laoghaire mé

De shíolraíbh mhaithíbh Gael,

Is mo chomhra dein muna bpósfair mé

go moch le fáinne an lae.’

 

‘Is a bháb an tsuilt ó ba bhreátha crot

Ná an sneachta ar chnoc le gréin,

Mar d’fhágais-se tinn breoite mé

‘s ní mór é mo shos ón bpéin,

ach phósfainnse gan feoirling tú

‘s ní iarfainn leat ba na spré,

ach tá móid orm le hóigmhnaoi dheas

ón gcomharsanacht roimh ré.’

 

 

A Single Thread

Ger Wolfe

 

You weave a single thread,

a spinning web

on a golden loom,

your Mother's womb

Oh singing/kicking child

the dancing world

Is waiting for your metaphor ,

your syllable ,

your Word and Rhyme ,

come on, come on ,and tell us/em all,

you want, you want , (you have, you have)

and tell us all ,

you need to know.

 

And in your secret room ,

in waiting you

are counting on

the turning sea ,

the cloud-run hills ,

the rain and the heart

and the moon and hands

of truth and faith

Come on, come on

and tell us all ,

you have you have ,

and tell 'em all ,

you want to know.

 

Day before day you hear

the swallows go,

the angels sing,

the river sail,

the city bawl,

the night go down,

the spilling sky,

while all the flowers

will glisten-cry.

come on, come on,

and tell 'em all,

you want, you want and tell 'em all,

you need to know.

 

Take all your heart-borne talk

and lay it on

the world in silent

beating on,

a drum a drum,

a pulse of life,

will hammer through

the din and tackle, silently,

a silver nail

go on go on

and tell 'em all

you want you want and tell us all

you need to know.

 

 

The Leaving of Limerick

 

As I roved out one evening, down by the Assembly Mall

I heard two lovers speaking as me and my love passed on

And the words that passed between them, they were but very few

“It’s not the leaving of Limerick that grieves me, but my darling, leaving

you.

 

In the morning when I am going, I will take you by the lily-white hand

And I'll wave it o’er my shoulder saying adieu to the Limerick strand

So farewell to the boys of Thomond Gate, it's to them I'll bid Adieu

It’s not the leaving of Limerick that grieves me, but my darling, leaving

you.

 

But now that we must be parted, I know you will understand

Why I must go broken-hearted, far away from my native land

Though my fond love I must leave you, you know my heart is true

It’s not the leaving of Limerick that grieves me, but my darling, leaving

you.”

 

 

Cois Abhann na Séad

 

Cois abhann na séad ar uair bhig a' lae, 's mé ag imeacht fé dhéin

mo shláinte,

Mar a mbídís caora 's cnó buí ar ghéagaibh is mil bheach 'na

shlaod ar bhánta.

Do labhradar na h-éin, do lasadar na spéartha, bhí an fharraige 'na

caor- luisne lán suas,

Do nhúscail an ghrian a bhí le sealad mór fé chiach agus d'érigh

an t-iasc 'na lán rith.

 

Ansúd ar dtúis ar imeallaibh ciúise coille cumhra do tharla

An fhinne-bhean fhionn gur bhinne liom a tiúin ná an fidil, an fliúit

ná 'n cláirseach.

 

Ba bhreá deas a súil, a mala caol cumtha, a leaca bhí mar

chumhar na trá,

Ba ghile í ar a píb ná an eala ar a' linn is do líon mo chroí le grá

dhí.

 

Nuair a dhearcas í ansúd mar a bhí - an ainnir ba chaoine 's ba

bhreátha,

Bhí scáil na gcaor 'na leacain réidh agus fátha bhí 'na gáire.

Dob é an chom slím do lagaigh mé im chroí le taithneamh dá cló 's

dá gáire,

Ó bhaitheas go bonn bhí a ciabh lei go trom is a cúl buí go casta

fáinneach.

 

'Sé mo chreach agus mo chás gan mise 'gus mo ghrá ar leaba go

lá 'nár n-aonar

Go ciúin agus go tláth roimh Aifreann a rá, 's gan cead ag ár

namhaid teacht taobh linn.

A shuairc-bhruinneall bhreá na leabhar-chrobh dob' áille, ó d'fhág

tú m'intinn buartha,

'S gur ro-mhór go mbfhearr lem' chroí 'stigh tú d'fháil ná an ríocht

is é fháil mar dhualgas.

 

Mo chreach agus mo chiach agus mh'atuirse go dian sna dúithí

siar go brónach,

Ansúd imeasc na gcliar mar a dtaithneadh an ghrian agus mise ag

dul ag iarraidh fóirthint'.

A ainnir na rian, a chogararnaigh sa ghrian, nach cliste mar a

riarfása an brón díom,

Is go bhfuilim féin id dhiaidh le tuilleadh 'gus dhá bhliain, 's ná fág i

bpian níos mó mé.*

 

*last verse not recorded on album. Focail le buíchas ó Eilís Ní

Shúilleabháin.

 

 

Another Day

Tim O’Brien

 

This world is made with sweat and toil, pushing muscle and elbow oil,

We can't lie too long in the shade, cause every day must be remade,

Some days you fall some days you fly, but in the end we all must die,

Our rotting flesh and broken bone will feed the ground that we call home,

will feed the ground that we call home.

 

But a new sprout grows from a fallen tree,

my sons will go on after me

So lift your heart and dry your eye,

it's another day to live and die

 

I've run naked in the wild, seen the beauty of a newborn child,

Like the alchemists of old, I've tried to spin my straw to gold,

Most times a giver, sometimes a thief, so full of hope but prone to grief,

Between freedom and despair, I know that truth is lying there, I've seen

the truth, it's lying there.

 

And a new sprout grows from a fallen tree,

this world will go on after me

So lift your heart and dry your eye,

it's another day to live and die

 

So go on now, don't you worry 'bout me, you've miles to go and a world

to see,

My life's been long and full and good, I've run this race the best I could,

It's a short time here and long apart, But the same song rings in both our

hearts,

So take my guitar when I'm gone, write your own rhymes, then pass it on,

Just take your hit and then pass it on

 

Let a new sprout grow from a fallen tree,

this song will go on after me

So lift your heart and dry your eye,

it's another day to live and die

It's another day to live and die,

just another day…

 

 

The Bold Fenian Men

Peadar Kearney

 

'Twas down by the glenside, I met an old woman,

 

A-picking young nettles and she scarce saw me coming,

I listened awhile to the song she was humming:

“Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men.

 

‘Tis fifty long years since I saw the moon beaming,

On strong manly forms and their eyes with hope gleaming,

I see them again, sure, in all my daydreaming,

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men.

 

Some died on the glenside, some died near a stranger,

And wise men have told us that their cause was a failure,

They fought for old Ireland and they never feared danger,

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men.”

 

I passed on my way, God be praised that I met her,

Be life long or short, sure I'll never forget her,

We may have brave men, but we'll never have better,

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men

 

 

An Clár Bog Déil

 

Phósfainn thú, gan bó gan púnt,

Gan áireamh spré,

Mo chuid den tsaol le toil do mhuintire,

Dá m’áil leat mé,

Mar sé mo ghalar dubhach gan mé agus tú

A ghrá mo chléibh

I gCaiseal Mumhan,

‘S gan de leaba fúinn, ach an clár bog déil.

 

Siúd a chogair ort, is tar a chodladh,

Liom féin sa ghleann,

Agus gheobhair foscar ar leaba luachair,

Is aer cois abhainn,

Beidh an londubh in ár bhfocair,

Is beidh an céirseach ann,

Is beidh srutháinín, ag gabháil tharainn,

Sinn fé ghéagaibh na gcrann.

 

Searc mo chléibh do thugas féin duit,

Is grá tré rún,

Mar dá dtitfeadh sé dom ‘chor sa tsaol,

Mé féin agus tú,

Ceangal cléire do bheith eadrainn araon,

Is an fáinne dlúth,

Is dá bhfeicinn féin mo ghrá ag aon fhear,

Gheobhainn bás de chumha.