CLUN MALLA

How hard is my fortune
How vain my repining
The strong rope of fate
For my young neck is twining
My strength has departed
My cheeks sunk and sallow
As I languish in chains
In the gaol of Clûn Malla

No boy in the village
Was ever yet milder
I could play with a child
And my sport be no wilder
I could dance without tiring
>From morning til evening
And my goal ball I'd strike
To the lightning of heaven

At my bedfoot decaying
My hurley is lying
Through the lads of the village
My goal ball is flying
My horse 'mongst the neighbours
Neglected may fallow
While this heart young and gay
Lies cold in Clûn Malla

Next Sunday the pattern
At home will be keeping
The lads of the village
The fields will be sweeping
And the dance of fair maidens
The evening will hallow
While this heart
Young and gay
Lies cold in Clûn Malla

(Translated from the Irish by J. J. Callanan.)
Cluain Meala = (literally) field of honey = Clonmel.
Recorded by Liam Clancy.
@Irish
filename[ CLUNMELA
TUNE FILE: CLUNMELA
CLICK TO PLAY
JD
mudcat.org

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