Cuisle Na hEigse

Introduction

2008-07-12T18:26:00.002-04:00

This weblog is provided by the O'Mara Foundation for study, enjoyment and general use. Feel free to copy and distribute any of the poetry found here. All originals are ore are believed to be in the Public Domain; all translations are the work and property of The O'Mara Foundation.

Since ancient times, Poetry has been one of the traditional ways for Gaelic people to venerate their gods, heroes, and ancestors. Although many believe that the veneration of the old gods came to an end centuries ago, the literature tells a different story. This site is dedicated to the poems-- and the poets-- who have venerated the ancient Celtic gods of Ireland, down through the centuries. Most of the poems which will appear on this site are about the gods. A few are attributed to the gods, as prophecies. Some are about the holy days and nature. Some are about the fairies (a race who were ancient when the gods were born), or about druids and heroes down through the ages.

At present, all the pieces intended to be presented here are ones originally composed in the Irish language (although many poems venerating the gods were also written in English or latin as well). Comments and discussion are welcome and encouraged, although we reserve the right to delete any comments that we feel detract from the value of the site.

Bo Na bPucai

2008-07-10T11:48:00.001-04:00

Bó na bPúcaí

Captaen na Luaithe ó Bhaile an Ghoilín
chuir dís de na pílears le tréada
D’ordaigh sé doibh an gnó dhéanamh cruinn
Is na ba chr go Duimhch an Fhirtéaraigh
Do dheiheadar comairle ar an mbóthar aníos
Go raibh Tigh an Hóraigh rompu ar an slí
Nuair a gheobhaidís an treo ann go dtógfaidís spraoi
Is go bhfanfadh na ba ar an mbóthar

Nuair chuadar isteach chunbean an tí dhíol,
D’ardaigh na fairies an bhó leo
D’athraíodar a dath de bharr cleasa le draiocht
Is ní aitheodh aon phílear fen gcoroín í!
D’ardaíodar leo í, mar bheadh ceo ag imeacht le gaoith
Mothimpeall Chruach Mharthain is Mám Clasach sios
Tá sí I bpairc leasa ag tál bhainne ar mhná sí
sa bhaile atá in íochtar ó dTorna.

<>

The Pixies’ Cow

The captain of the troops in Baile an Goilin
Took two of the agents from the fold
He order them to do a round of business
And round up the cows from Duimhch an Firtearaigh
They gathered them together in the street below
where Horaigh’s tavern faces the lane
They went in there to go on a spree
and left the cattle on the street

They went inside to pay the landlady
and the fairies lifted a cow away with them
they changed her color with a trick of magic
and none of the agents of the crown took notice!
They flew her away, like a cloud on the wind
Over Motimpeall, Cruach Martin, and Mam Clasach below
She is in a fairy-ring field giving milk to the women of the Sí
whose homes are under the hedges

Si Beg and Si Mor by Turlough O'Carolan

2008-07-10T11:45:00.001-04:00

Sí Beag is Sí Mór

Imreas mór tháinig eidir na ríoghna
Mar fhíoch a d’fhás ón dá chnoc sídh
Mar a dúirt an tsídh mhór go mb’fhearr I féin
Faoi dhó, faoi dhó nán tSídh Bheag

Ní raibh tú ariamh chomh uasal linn
I gcéim dár ordaíodh I dtuaith nái gcill
Beir uainn do chaint, níl suairceas ann
Coinnigh do chos is do lámh uainn!

An tráth chruinnigh na sluaighte bhí an buala teann
Ar feadh na machaireacha anonn is anall
‘s níl aon ariamh dar ghluais ón mbinn
Nar chaill a chionn san ár sin

Párlí! Párlí a cháide ghaooil!
Sin chugaibh ár námhaid ó Charn Chlann Aoidh
Ó bhinn Eachluinn aníos na sluaighte dhíobh
Is bímid uile uile páirteach!

Sí Beag and Sí Mór

A great contention came between the two queens
A feud that spilled from the two hills of the Sidhe
For it was said that the large mound was better
twice greater, twice greater, than the small mound

You have never been as noble as us
In rank decreed by the people or church
Be off with your chatter, nothing but pettiness
Keep your foot and hand from us

When the hosts circled roound there was mighty striking
On the face of the meadowlands, to and fro
So never a one came down from those peaks
but lost his head in the slaughter there

Parley! Parley! O friends and kin!
Here come our foes from Carn Clann Aoidh
Up from Eachluinn peak, the baneful host
And we must all stand together!

Urchill an Cregain by Art MacCooey

2008-07-09T01:50:00.001-04:00

Úirchill an Chregáin

Ag Úirchill an Chreagáin sea chadail mé ‘réir faoi bhrón
Is le héirí na maidne tháinig ainnir faoi mo dhéin le póg
Bhí gríos-ghrua ghartha aici is loinnir ina ciabh mar ór
Is beidh é íocshláinte an dómhain bheith ag amharc ar an ríon óg

A fhialfhir charthanaigh, ná caitear thusa I néalta bróin
Ach éirigh go tapa agus aistrigh liom siar sa ród
Go tír dheas na meala nach bhfuair Galla inti réim go fóill
Is gheobhair aoibhneas ar hallaí do do mhealladhsa le siansa ceoil

A ríon is deise, an tú Helen faoi ar tréaghdadh sló
Nó aon de naoi mná deasa Pharnassus tú ‘bhí déanta I gcló?
Cá tír sa chruinne inar oileadh thú, a réal gan cheo
Le’r mhian leat mo shamhailse bheith cogarnail leat siar sa ród?

Ná fiafraigh díomsa óir cha chodlaim ar an taobh seo den Bhóinn
Is síogaí beag linbh mé a oooileadh le taobh Ghráinne Óig
I mbruíon cheart na n-Ollún bím go follas ag dúscadh an cheoil
Bím san oich ag Teamhair is ar maidin I lár Thír Eoghain

Is é mo ghéarghoin tinnis gur theastaigh uainn Gaeil Thír Eoghain
Agus oidhrí an Fheá gan seághais faoi léig dár gcóir—
Géaga glandaite Néil Fhrasaigh nach dtréigfeadh an ceol
Is chuifeadh éide faoi Nollaig ar na hollúna ‘bheadh ag géilleadh dóibh

Ó Treaghdadh na treabha ‘bhí in Eachroim is—faraoir!-- faoin Bhóinn
Sliocht Íre, na flatha ‘bhéarfadh fascadh do gach draoi gan ghleo
Nárbh fhearr duitse sna liosa’ agus mise le do thaobh gach nóin
Ná saighde Chlann Bhullaí bheith ‘tolladh trí do chroí go deo?

Cha tréigfinn do chuireadh ar a gcruinníonn na ríthe d’ór
Ach gur claedartha liom scaradh le mo charaid atá sa tír go fóill
An céile úd a mheallas le mo ghealladh tráth ‘bhí sí óg,
dá dtréigfinn anois í nach feasach duit go mbeadh sí I mbrón?

Is é a shílim nach cairde duit a maireann de do ghaolta beo
Táir faofa, gan earra, bocht, bearránach, baoth, gan dóigh
Nárbh fhearr duitse imeacht le hainnir na mbaothchrobh meor
Ná an tír seo bheith ‘fonóid faoi gach rabhán dá ndéan’ tú ‘cheol?

A ríon dheas mhilis, más cinniúint duit mé mar stór
Tabhair leasa is gealladh dom ar maidin sula dtéim sa ród
Má éagaim faoin tSeannainn, I gcríoch Mhanann nó san Éigipt mhór
Gur’ I gCill chumhra an Chreagáin a leagfar mé I gcre faoi fhód

<>

Cregain Graveyard

In Cregain graveyard I slept last night in despair
With the rising of the morning a woman came to me with a kiss
Bright burning were her cheeks and her hair shone like gold
It would be medicine to the world to behold that young queen

Good generous man, be not consumed in clouds of sorrow
But rise up now and come with me, westward on the road
To a good land of honey, yet untouched by the stranger
There will be pleasant melody in our halls when you play your music

Righteous queen, are you Helen from Troy
Or one of the nine women of Parnassus, taking on this form
What land of the world has raised you, queen without peers
With your wish for the likes of me to conspire with, out on the road?

Do not ask me why I sleep on this side of the Boyne
I am a child of the sidhe, brought up beside Grainne the young
In the true fort of the Ollams, I openly strike up the music
In the night I am in Tara, in the morning in the middle of Tyrone

And it is My sharp-cutting fervor to be wanted by the Gaels of Tyrone
And the joyless scions of the beech, deteriorating in their inheritance
That the clean-colored heirs of Neil Frasaigh would not forsake song
And give clothing at Christmas to the Ollams who are loyal to them

Since the plowing of the tribes in Aughrim and—alas!-- beneath the Boyne
The signs are that the powers will bring pressure to every druid without battle
Would you not rather be in the fairy rath, with me by your side every day
Than have the archers of Clan Volley pierce your heart through and through?

I would not forsake you for all the gold in the world
But it would be cowardly to leave my friends yet in this land
I’ve a wife here that I wooed when she was young
If I abandon her and go with you will she not be in sorrow?

I think that you have no friends left among your living kin
You are bare, without posessions, poor, barren, aimless, without goods
Wouldn’t you rather be off with a hot blooded maiden
Than in this land where there is mocking under every tuft of grass for your songs?

O, righteous queen, you have persuaded me with your treasures
Let us go as you promise me in the morning on the road
If I die below the Shannon, In Mannannan’s land, or in Great Egypt
In fragrant Cregain Graveyard lay me in the clay below the sod

Urchnoc Chein Mhic Cainte by Peter O'Dornain

2008-07-09T01:47:00.001-04:00

Úrchnoc Chéin Mhic Cáinte

A phlúr na maedean is úire gné,
‘Thug clú le scéimh ón ádhamh chlainn
A chúl na bpéarla’, a rún na héigse
Dhúblaíonn féle ‘s fáillte.
A ghnúis mar ghréin I dtús gach lae ghil,
A mhúchann léan le d’gháire
‘S é mó chumh’ gan mé ‘s tú, ‘shiúr, linn féin,
Sa dún sin Chéin Mhic Cáinte.

Táim brúite I bpéin gan suan gan néal
De d’chumh’, a ghéag is áille
Is gur tú mo raegh I gcúigí Éireann,
Cúis nach séanaim ás de.
Dá siúlfá, a réalt gan smúit, liom féin,
Ba shúgach saor mo shláinte
Gheofá plúr is méad is cnuasach craobh’
Sa dún sin Chéin Mhic Cáinte.

A shuaircbhean shéimh na gcuacfholt péarlach,
Gluais liom féin ar báll beag,
Tráth ‘s buailte cléir is tuataí féin
I na suan faoi éadaí bána.
Ó thuaidh go mbéam ‘bhfad uathu ‘raon
Teacht nua-cruth gréine ‘marach,
Gan ghuais le chéile in uaigneas aerach
San uaimh sin Chéin Mhic Cáinte.

Cluinfir uaill na ngadhar ar luas I ndéidh
Bhriain luaimnigh bhéarnaigh mhásaigh,
Is fuaim guth béilbhin cuach is smaol
Go suairc ar ghéaga ‘n álta
I bhfuarlinn shéimh beidh sluabhuíon éisc
Ag ruaigeadh ‘chéile ar snámh ann
Is an cuan gur léir duit uait I gcéin
Ó nuachnoc Chéin Mhic Cáinte.

<>

The Fresh Hill of Cian, Cainte’s Son

O, Flower of maidens, fresh of form
You give grace and beauty to Adam’s clan
O, locks of pearl, O, secret of the wise
You double the feasting and welcome!
More beautiful than the sun, and bright every day
You smother the sorrow with laughter
It’s my sadness I’m not going, with you alone
Into the Dún of Cian, Cainte’s son.

I’m bruised and in pain, without sleep, without shade
From your loneliness, branch most delightful
And you’d be my choice from the five fifths of Éire
A case I cannot deny
If you will go, O, Faultless star, with me
My health would be free and merry
There will be flowers in plenty and nuts from the branch
In the dún of Cian, Cainte’s son.

Beautiful sweet woman of the pearly curled hair
Go with me upon the little hill
Far from clergy and laiety too,
In sleep under sheets of white
To the north far away together
The sun will take a new shape tomorrow
With each other, without danger in airy solitude
In the cairn of Cian, Cainte’s son

We’ll hear the wail of the hound after the speeding hare
Brian Luimnigh of the fair haunches
And hear the sweet-mouthed voice of thrush and cuckoo
Prettily from every high branch
And we’ll see the shining schools of orange fishes
Chasing one another while they swim
And the sharp cove, yourself and I together
From the new hill of Cian, Cainte’s son

An Aisling by Egan O'Rathaille

2008-07-09T01:44:00.001-04:00

An Aisling

Maidean sul smaoin Titan a chosa do luaill
ar mhullach cnoic aoird aoibhinn do lodamar suas,
tarrastar linn scaoth bhruinneall soilbhir suairc—
gasra bhí I Sídh Seanadh, solasbhrugh thuaidh.

Fearastar scím dhraíochta nár dhorcha snua
ó Ghaillimh na líog lí-gheal go Corcaigh na gcuan:
barra gach crainn síorchuireas toradh agus cnuas,
meas daire ar gach coill, fírmhil ar chlochaibh go buan

Lasaid sin trí coinnle go solus nach luaim
ar mhullach Chnoic aoird Fhírinne Conallach Rua,
leanastar linn scaoth na mban gcochall go Tuamhain,
is fachtaimse dhíobh díoghrais a n-oifige ar cuairt.

D’fhreagair an bhríd Aoibhill, nár dhorcha snua
‘fachain na dtrí gcoinnle do lasadh ar gach cuan
in ainm an rí dhíograis bheas againn go luath
i gceannas na dtrí riochta, ‘s dá gcosnamh go buan’.

As m’aisling do shlímbhíogas go hachomair suas
is do mheasas gurbh fhíor d’Aoibhill gach sonas dár luaigh;
is amhlaidh bhíos tímcheathach doilbhir duairc,
maidean sul smaoin Titan a chosa do luaill.

<>

The vision

One morning before Titan thought to rise to his feet
up on top of a pleasant high hill I had climbed,
I came upon a host of maidens sweet and joyful—
girls from Sídh Seanadh, bright house to the north

There spread a druidic mist of blinding aspect
From Galway of the bright stones to Cork of the coves:
On top of every tree came abundant fruits and nuts
Oakl mast in every woodland, strong honey in the skeps always

They lit three candles of light I cannot name
on the high Hill of Truth of Conallach Rua
I followed the flock of cloaked women to Thomond,
and asked them about their devoted duties to the court

Then answered the shining Aoibheall, of blinding aspect
“We must light the three candles over every cove
in the name of the devoted king who is coming soon
to head the three kingdoms, and defend them long”.

From my vision soft and suddenly I woke up
and I thought that it was true, every word Aoibheall had said
but I found that I was unnerved, doleful and dark
one morning before Titan thought to rise to his feet.

A Bhean Ud Thios, traditional, poet unknown

2008-07-09T01:42:00.000-04:00

A Bhean Úd Thíos

A Bhean úd thíos ar bhruach a’ tsrutháin
an dtuigeann tusa fáth mo ghearráin?
Is gur bliain ‘s a lá inniu ‘fuadaíodh mé ó mo leannán,
is a rugadh isteach mé i Lios an Chnocáin

Seo é anseo mo theach mór maiseach
Is mó leann úr agus seanleann ann.
Is mó mil bhuí agus céir beach ann
Is mó seanduine ar a nasc ann.

Is mó buachaill cúldonn cas ann
Is mó cailín cúlbhuí tais ann
Tá dhá bhean déag ag iompar mac ann
Tá an oiread eile lena n-ais ann

Abaile m’ chéile teacht amárach
Is an choinneal chéarach i gcroí a dhearnan
Scian choise dui’ ‘thabhairt ‘na láimh leis,
Is an capall tosaigh a bhualadh sa bhearna

An luibh a bhuaint ‘tá i ndoras an leasa
Mar shúil le dia go raghainn leis abhaile
Nó mura dtaga sé faoin tráth sin
Go mbeidh mé i mó bhanríon ar na mná seo

<>

O Woman There

O woman there beside the river bend
Do you know the trouble I am in?
It’s a year and a day today since I was stolen from my babes
And brought to the Hall in the Hill

There is my house great and adorned
There is my new babe and my older one
There is my yellow honey and beeswax also
There are my old people under bonds

There is my boy with the wild brown curls
There is my girl with the soft blonde hair
A dozen women heavy with child are there
A dozen more whose time has arrived are there

Tell my husband at home tomorrow
To make a wax candle into a heart
Come with a black handled knife in his hand
Leading a horse to strike down in the ditch

And mow down the grass before the gateway
As the eye of a god reveals it to him
If he does not come in this way
I will remain as the queen of the women here

Prophecy, by a Druid of Tara

2008-07-09T01:40:00.000-04:00

Tícfa Tálcenn
tar muir mercenn,
a thí thollcenn,
a chrann crombcenn.

Canfaid michrábud
a mias i n-airthiur a thige;
fris-gérat a muinter uile:
'Amén, Amén.'

<>

Here comes adze-head
over the sea with a mad head
wearing a cloak with a rent head
holding a staff with a bent head

He will sing sacrelige
from the table before his house
and all his people will say
“Amen, Amen”

Prophecy by The Morrigan

2008-07-09T01:37:00.000-04:00

Sith co nem.
Nem co doman.
Doman fo ním,
nert hi cach,
án forlann,
lan do mil,
mid co saith.
Sam hi ngam,
gai for sciath,
sciath for durnd.
Dunad lonngarg;
longait-tromfoíd
fod di uí
ross forbiur
benna abu airbre imetha.
Mess for crannaib,
craob doscis
scis do áss
sith do mas
mac for muin,
muinell tairb
tairb di arccooin
odhb do crann,
crann do tenn.
Tene a nn-ail.
Ail a n-uír
uích a mbuaib
boinn a mbru.
Brú lafefaid
ossglas iaer errach,
foghamar forasit etha.
Iall do tir,
tir co trachd lafeabrae.
Bidruad rossaib sírab rithmár,
“Nach scel laut?”
Sith co nemh, bidsirnae.

<>

Peace to the sky.
Sky to the earth,
earth under sky,
a cup so full,
full of honey,
mead in plenty.
Summer in winter,
spear over shield,
shield over stead.
A stead prepared;
prepared for turf-wars
turf for lambs
woods for beasts
antlers high
grain fields flowing.
Mast on branches,
branches drooping
drooping with fruits
wealth for a son
a son for a home,
strong back of a bull
a bull and a boar
wood from trees ,
trees for fire.
Fire on the cliffs.
The cliffs so bright
fish in the rivers
by the river, a hostel.
A hostel so lengthy,
green grass in spring,
fat horses in fall,
A bond to the land,
land of long hills.
And rugged headlands ever flowing,
“What news have you?”
Peace to the sky, I say.

Sleep Song By Grainne

2008-07-07T13:53:00.000-04:00

Cotail becán becán bec
úair ní hecail duit a bec
a gille día tardus seirc
a meic uí Duibhne, a Díarmait

Cotailsi sunn go sáim sáim
A Uí Duibhne, a Díarmait áin
do-génsa t’foraire de
a meic uí delbda Duibhne

Cotail becán bennacht fort
ós uisce Topráin Tréngort
a úanáin úachtair locha
do brú Thíre trénsrotha

Rop inonn is cotlad tes
deg Fidaig na n-airdéices
dá tuc ingin Morainn búain
tar cenn Conaill ón Chráebruaid

Ropp inonn is cotlad túaid
Finnchaid Finnchaím Essa Rúaid
dá tug Sláine (ségda rainn)
tar cenn Fáilbe Chotachinn

Rop inonn is cotlad tíar
Áine ingine Gáilían
fecht do-luid céim fo thrilis
la Dubthach ó Dairnis

Rop inonn is cotlad tair
Dedad dána díumasaigh
dá tuc Coinnchinn ingin Binn
tar cenn Dechill déin Duibrinn

A chró gaile iarthair Gréc
anfatsa ‘got forcoimét
maidfid mo chraidese acht súaill
monat-faicear re hénúair

Ar scarad ar ndís ‘ma-le
‘s scarad lenab óenbaile
is scarad cuirp re hanmain
a laich Locha finnCharmain

Léicfider caínche ar do lorg
rith Caílte ní ba hanord
nachat-táir bás ná brocad
nachat-léice I sírchotlad

<>

Sleep a little, little bit
nothing now to fear a bit
O, lad to whom I gave my heart
O, child of Duibhne, O, Diarmait

Sleep in tranquil, tranquil slumber
O, child of Duibhne, O, pleasant Diarmait
I shall guard you all the while
O, son of beautiful Duibhne

Sleep a while, blessings on you
from the water of Tréngort well
O, foam upon the lake
to the hostel in the Mighty River’s Land

Flee there and sleep in the south
like Fidaig of the high bards
who took the daughter of Morann the immortal
in spite of Conaill of the Red Branch

Flee there and sleep in the north
like fine fair Finnchad
who took Sláine (and made her glad)
in spite of Failbe the hardheaded

Flee there and sleep in the west
like Áine daughter of Gáilían
who went out in rags and journeyed
with Dubhthach from the Isle of the Oak

Flee there and sleep in the east
like proud and crafty Dedad
who took Coinchinn daughter of Binn
in spite of Dechill of the dark weapons

O, valiant wall of western Greece
I shall stand watch over you
my heart would all but shatter
if a time came I could not see you

To part us from each other
is to part two children of one home
is to part body and soul
O, spearman from fair Carman’s lake

Enchantments are laid upon your tracks
Caílte’s running will bring no harm
not upon you death and squalor
not on you the endless sleep of stones

My Tale By Fionn Mac Cool

2008-07-07T13:51:00.000-04:00

Scél lem dúib
dordaid dam
snigid gaim
ro fáith sam

Gáeth ard úar
ísel grían
gair ar rith
rirthech rían

rorúad rath
ro cleth cruth
ro gnab gnáth
giugrann guth

Ro gab úacht
etti én
aigre ré
é mo scél

<>

My tale for you
Stag snorts
winter pours
gone, the summer

Wind high and cold
shy the sun
low its course
loud the stream

So red the rath
hidden its curves
rudeness has seized
the voice of the greylag

Chill has seized
the wings of birds
a season of ice
That is my tale

May Day By Fionn Mac Cool

2008-07-07T13:47:00.000-04:00

Ut Dixit Fionn:

Cétamain cain cucht
rée rosaír rann
canait luin laíd láin
día laí grían gaí gann

Gairid cuí chrúaid den
is fo-chen sam saír
suidid síne serb
I mbi cerb caill chraíb

Cerbaid sam súaill sruth
saigid graig lúath linn
lethaid fota fraích
for-beir folt fann finn

Fúapair sceith scell scíach
im-reith réid rían rith
cuirthir sál súan
tuigithir bláth bith

Beraid beich beg anert
bert bonn bochtai bláith
berid slabrai sliab
feraid seng saidbir sáith

Seinnid caille céol
con-greinn séol síd slán
síatar denn do dinn
dé do loch linn lán

Labraid tragna trénbard
canaid ess n-ard nua
fáilti do linn té
táinic lúachra lúad

Lengait fainnle fúas
imasoich crúas síuil cróich
foirbrid mes máeth méth
innisid loth loíth

Leig lath fath feig
fert ar-cain cuí chrúaid
cuirthirr iasc mbrecc bedc
is balc gedc láith lúaith

Losaid foirbríg fer
óg a mbúaid mbreg mbras
caín cach caille clár
caín cach mag mármas

Melldach rée rann
ro gaíth garb gam
gel ros toirthech tonn
oll síd subach sam

Suirigthir íall én
aim i lean
birthir gort glas
I mbí bras glas gel

Greit mer, imrim ech
im-sernar sreth slúaig
rosáer rath geilestar
ór eilestar úaid

Ecal aird fer fann
fedil fochain ucht
uisse ima-cain
“Cétemain, cain cucht!”

<>
Thus Spoke Fionn:

May Day, delightful day
brilliant time of year
birds sing a full lay
before the sun has cast its rays

Loud the cuckoo calls
and nods to the feast of summer
the sickle of the storm ceases
which tore at the branches of the wood

Summer cuts the little stream
swift steeds seek the pools
long spreads the heather
fine fair ferns flourish

Flowers shine from the hawthorn hedge
water flows in smooth currents
bringing sleep to the salt sea

Little strong bees bear
bundles brought from blossoms
The generous mountain carries
lean calves in plenty

Music plays in the woods
harmony bringing healing peace
dust and fog are blown from homes
and from the full lake pool

The cake of well-guarded grain speaks
the high waterfall sings anew
welcome to the warm pool
rustling comes to the reeds

Swallows flit on high
loudness of music pours from the hills
good fodder for beasts in the meadow
wounds inflicted are healed

Leaves spread on beech twigs
the cuckoo calls loud and high
the speckled trout leaps
strong is the swift skirmisher’s limb

The strength of men returns
the mighty slopes are young again
Fair are the clear woodlands
fair every great wide meadow

Sweet time of year
gone are the gusts of wicked winter
the forest shines, the waves are wide
all is peaceful, summer is joyous

A flock of birds comes together
in the place where the woman is
chirping in the green meadow
where the green river flows
Fiercely racing, horses run
the thronging crowd stands round
brilliant is the shining marsh
the golden iris is there

Weak is the man who fears noisse
the strong man sings out loud
he sings in delight
“May day, delightful day!”

Rosc by Amergin Glungeal

2008-07-07T13:43:00.000-04:00

Ám Gaeth i m-muir,
Ám tond trethan,
Ám fuaim mara,
Ám dam secht ndirend,
Ám séig I n-aill,
Ám dér gréne,
Ám cain lubai,
Ám torc ar gail,
Ám he I l-ling
Ám loch I m-maig,
Ám brí a ndai
Ám brí dánae
Ám gái i fodb feras feochtu,
Ám dé delbas do chind codnu,
Coiche nod gleith clochur slébe?
Cia on co tagair aesa éscai?
Cia du I l-laig fuiniud gréne?
Cia brie buar o thig Tethrach?
Cia buar Tethrach tibi?

Cia dám, cia dé delbas faebru a ndind ailsiu?
Cáinte im gai—cainte gaithe?

I’m a gust on the sea,
I’m a footfall of a wave,
I’m a roar of the sea,
I’m a stag of seven tines,
I’m a hawk on a cliff,
I’m a tear of sunlight,
I’m a cry of love,
I’m a boar in rage,
I’m a salmon in a pool,
I’m a lake in a plain,
I’m a mountain of a man,
I”m a mountain of skill,
I’m a spear in sharpness, faring in fight,
I’m the god who kindles fire in your head
Who make smooth the mountain’s stones?
Who can count the ages of the moon?
Who finds the place where the sun goes down?
Who drives out the kine from Tethrach’s house?
Who makes the kine of Tethrach smile?
Who is the horned one, the god who forges…
Who incants weapons and calls up winds?