Ardaí Chuain                                                                      Quiet Land of Erin
Dá mbeinn féin in Aird Uí Chuain

In aice an tsléibhe atá i bhfad uaim

B’annamh liom gan dul ar cuairt

Go gleann na gcuach Dé Domhnaigh

Agus och och Éire ‘lig is ó,

Éire lionn dubh agus ó,

‘Sé mo chroí ‘tá trom ‘agus bronach.

Is iomaí Nollaig a bhí mé féin

I mBun Abhann Doinne is mé gan chéill

Ag iomáin ar an trá bháin

‘Is mo chamán bán ins mo dhorn liom

Agus och och Éire ‘lig is ó,

Éire lionn dubh agus ó,

‘Sé mo chroí ‘tá trom ‘agus bronach.

Agus och och Éire ‘lig is ó,

Éire lionn dubh agus ó,

‘Sé mo chroí ‘tá trom ‘agus bronach.

Nach tuirseach mise anseo liom féin

Nach n-áirim guth coiligh lonndubh nó traon

gealbhán, smaolach, naoscach féin

Is chan aithním féin an Domhnach

Agus och och Éire ‘lig is ó,

Éire lionn dubh agus ó,

‘Sé mo chroí ‘tá trom ‘agus bronach.

This song was composed in the 19th century by Seán Mac Ambrois, from Glendun, in the Glens of Antrim. Most likely composed to a far older air. According to the story, he had been considering emigrating to the Mull of Kintyre, which is so close to the Antrim coast that you can see individual houses on a clear day. In this version of the story, McCambridge stood on the top of Articoan, imagining himself over in Kintyre looking back on his native soil, and wrote this song of exile. The song made him so homesick that he decided not to go, and spent the rest of his days in Ireland. There is some poetic truth in this story but, inevitably, it seems to be more complicated that that. What is interesting, is that it is written in a non-standard, archaic, now extinct Ulster Gaelic, that very closely resembles Scotch Gaelic. And an older bardic style of descriptions, eg. associating Ireland to the blackbird, was often done in medieval poetry

Seán Mac Ambrois (John McCambridge) (1793 – 1873) was born in Mullarts, near Glendun, and is buried in Layde churchyard between Glendun and Glenballyeamonn. His tomb is partly in Irish.

The townland of Articoan is a mile west of Cushendun, rising north from the River Dun to a height of about 500 feet. There is a multiplicity of Gaelic versions of the placename, and an equal multiplicity of interpretations: Airdí Cúing, Ard a’ Chúíng, Aird an Chúmhaing, Ard a’ Chuain, Airdí Chuain, Ard Uí Choinn. The first element, no matter how it is spelt, probably means a height; all the trouble arises from the final element(s).Dr Pat McKay of the Placenames Project in Queens University Belfast says that there is no authoritative version of the name, but tentatively recommends Ard a’ Chuain – the height of the harbour, or the height of the bay (Cuan in Scottish Gaelic also means the sea). Seán Mac Maoláin argues for Áird a’ Chum[h]aing (= the height of the narrow strip of land) because the townland is well back from the sea, and follows the narrow defile at the head of the glen, reminds us that the noun ‘cúng’ also means a narrow defile between two heights. The townland itself is long and narrow, and there is an Alticoan in the next glen.

This version of the song was recorded for the 1992 film 'Patriot Games' it is sung by Maggie Boyle. In English, the air is often called "The quiet land of Erin" and English language versions by that title have been composed, but are not direct translations of the original Gaelic

I wish I were in Ardicoan

Near yon mountain far away.

I would seldom let the Sunday go

To the Cuckoo’s glen across the bay.

And it’s oh dear Ireland, let me , and oh

Ireland, the blackbird, and oh

It's my heart is heavy and saddened.

It is many a Christmas Day I had myself

In Cushendun and me with no sense (young, naieve)

Hurling on the White Strand

With my white ash hurley in my fist.

And it’s oh dear Ireland, let me , and oh

Ireland, the blackbird, and oh

It's my heart is heavy and saddened.

And it’s oh dear Ireland, let me , and oh

Ireland, the blackbird, and oh

It's my heart is heavy and saddened.

Is it not my story, here on my own

And I cant hear the cock blackbird, or corncrake

Seagull, thrush, the snipe himself

And I cannot have the Sundays.

And it’s oh dear Ireland, let me , and oh

Ireland, the blackbird, and oh

It's my heart is heavy and saddened