Thirteen traditional songs in Irish with contemporary guitar accompaniment. Complete texts, translations, and notes supplied.
Includes unlimited streaming of Casadh na n-Amhrán / Turning the Song
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‘Éamonn an Chnoic’ tells of a dispossessed Gaelic landowner, Éamonn Ó Riain, who, after the battle of Aughrim (1691), chose not to follow the ‘Wild Geese’ to fight on ‘far foreign fields, from Dunkirk to Belgrade’, but stay in his native Tipperary, harassing the English settlers and soldiery with a price of £200 on his head. He was eventually murdered for his bounty.
The song finishes ‘Aréir do thit an sneachta ar na cnoic, amach ar fud na hÉireann’ (‘Last night the snow fell on the hills, and over the whole of Ireland’) – not the last time the image would be used to convey a general mood of sadness thoughout the land.
lyrics
Éamonn an Chnoic
Cé hé sin amuigh a bhfuil faor ar a ghuth, A’ réabadh mo dhorais dúnta?
Mise Éamonn an Chnoic atá báite fuar fliuch O shíor-shiúl sléibhte is gleannta.
A lao ghil’s a chuid, cad a dhéannfainnse duit Mura gcuirfinn ort beinn de m’ ghúna?
’S go bhfuil púdar go tiubh á shíor-shéideadh leat, Is go mbeimis araon múchta.
Is fada mise amuigh faoi shneachta is faoi shioc, Is gan dánacht agam ar éinne,
Mo sheisreach gan scor, mo bhranar gan cur,
Is gan iad agam in aon chor.
Nil cáirde agam, is danaid liom san,
A ghlacfadh mé moch nó déanach,
Is go gcaithfidh mé dul thar farraige soir, Ós ann nach bhfuil aon de m’ghaolta.
A chumann ’s a shearc, rachaimídne seal
Fá choillte na measa cumhra
Mar a bhfaighimid an breac, ’s an lon ar a nead, An fhia ’gus an poc ag búireach,
Na h-éiníní binne ar ghéigíní a’ seinm
Is an cuaichín ar bharr an iúir ghlais,
Is go brách, brách ní thiocfaidh
An bás inár ngaire i lár na coille cumhra.
Beir scéala uaim soir go hainnir chiúin an tsuilt, Gur chailleadar a nid na héanlaith,
Gur aréir do thit an sneachta ar na cnoic, Amach ar fud na hÉireann.
Dá mairfeadh liom rith go seachtain ó inniu,
Do rachainnse ar mire ad’ fhéachaint,
Is go mb’fhearr liom anois a bheith báite sa mhuir, Ná a rá go mbeifeá réidh liom.
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Ned of the Hill
Who is that outside with an edge to his voice,
Who is battering my bolted door?
I am Ned of the Hill and I’m drowned, cold and wet, From ceaselessly walking mountains and glens.
Oh my darling, my love, what could I do for you,
But wrap a piece of my gown around you?
But there’s thick gunpowder forever being shot at you, And we’d both end up smothered.
I’m a long time outside under snow and frost,
And with nobody to trust;
My plough-team are untied, my fallow field unsown, And I’m not going near them at all.
I haven’t any friends, and I grieve over that,
Who would shelter me early or late,
So I’ll have to sail east over the sea,
For it’s there I’ll find none of my people.
My darling, my love, let us go for a while
To the woods with their fragrant berries and nuts; Where we’ll find the trout, and the blackbird in its nest, The stag and the buck-goat calling;
The little birds sweetly singing in the branches,
And the cuckoo on top of the yew-tree.
And never, ever, ever, will death approach us
In the middle of the fragrant wood.
Bring news from me east to the gentle happy girl, That the birds have lost their nests;
That last night the snow fell on the hills
And over the whole of Ireland.
If I could manage to run for a week from today I’d hasten madly to see you,
And I would prefer now to be drowned in the sea Than to say that you’ve cast me aside.
Fran O’Rourke is emeritus professor of philosophy. With John Feeley he has given recitals of Irish traditional songs
associated with James Joyce from San Diego to Shanghai.
John is Ireland’s leading classical guitarist. He has performed concerts around the world and recorded many CDs, most recently Bach’s Cello Suites 1-3....more
