from Sarah Ní Ghriallais "Idir Dhá á Sháile"
notes & lyrics accompanying cassette edited by Brian Ó Ruairc

AMHRÁN MHUIGHINSE

Dá mbéinn trí léige i bhfairraige nó ar shléibhte i bhad ó thír,
Gan aon neach beo i mo ghaobhar ach an raithneach ghlas is fraoch,
An sneachta dhá shéideadh aduaidh orm is an ghaoth dhá fhuadach dhíom,
'S mé bheith ag comhrá le mo Taimín Bán, níorbh fhada liom an oích'.

'S a Mhuire dhílis, céard a dhéanfas mé? Tá an geimhreadh seo a' tíocht fuar;
'S a Mhuire dhílis, céard a dhéanfas an teach seo 's a bhfuil ann?
Nach é an trua anois mé bheith ag scarúint libh ar thíocht na huaire breá,
Le linn don chuach bheith ag seinm ceoil 's gach duilliúr glas ag fás?

Dá mba tusa féin a d'imeodh as, 'gus mise fanacht ann,
Bheinn ag oiliúnt do chuid clainne dhuit gach oíche is gach lá.
Ó shúilfinn féin an cúige leo agus anonn go Contae an Chláir,
'S ní chuimhneoinn an fhad 's a mhairfinn beo fear eile a chur in t'áit.

Agus gearragí amach mo chónra dhom as fíorscoth gheal na gclár,
'S má tá Seán Ó hEidhin i Muighinis, bíodh sé déanta óna láimh;
Bíodh mo chaipín 's mo ribín inti istigh 's fad go rí-dheas ar mo cheann,
Agus triúr ban óg ó na sléibhte agam le mé ' chaoineadh os cionn cláir.

'S má bhíonn mo chlann sa mbaile agam an oíche a bhfaighidh mé bás,
Ó, nach dtórróidh siad go fiúntach mé trí oíche 'gus trí lá?
Beidh na píopaí geala cailce acu, 's na ceaigeannaí 's iad lán,
'S tiúrfaidh Páidín Mór go Muighinis mé, nó is garbh a bheas an lá.

'S ag góil siar ag Inse Ghainnimh dhom, bíodh an bhratach insan gcrann;
Ó, ná cuiridh i Leitir Calaidh mé, mar ní ann atá mo dhream,
Ach tugaigí siar go Muighinis mé, san áit a gcaionfear mé go hard;
Beidh na soilse ar na dúchannaí, 's ní bheidh uaigneas orm ann.

Notaí: [by Brian Ó Ruairc]
"Bean darb ainm Máire Ní Chlochartaigh a chum an t-amhrán seo agus í ar leaba a báis. Bhí sí pósta le Taimín Bán Ó Conghaile as Leitir Calaidh, ach theastaigh uaithi a bheith curtha i Muighinis lena nádúr fhéin. ach bhí an aimsir chomh dona san ar feadh trí lá indiaidh a báis narbh fhéidir an turas fharraige a dhéanamh, agus cuireadh i Leitir Calaidh í.
Chuir Sarah an t-amhrán seo ar cheann de na caiséid a ghabhann leis an leabhar "Blas Meala/A Sip from the Honey-Pot" a d'hoilsigh mé [Brían Ó Ruairc] i 1985."

[A woman by the name of Máire Ní Chlochartaigh wrote this song while she was on her death bed. she was married to Taimín Bán Ó Conghaile of Leitir Calaidh but she wanted to be buried in her own place, Muighinis (near Carna, Co Galway). But the weather was so bad for three days after her death that it wasn't possible to make the boat trip to Muighinis and she was buried in Leitir Calaidh instead.]

"Sarah recorded this song and its English translation - on one of the cassett tapes that accompanied my book "Blas Meala/A Sip from the Honey-Pot" (Irish Academic Press, 1985). It is the same recording that is included on the present tape. The version is a composite one, incorporating details from several different sources. - The only piece of information I have to add to what I wrote about the song in "Blas Meala" concerns the flag which Máire Ní Chlochartaigh wished to have flown on the boat which was to bring her body to Muighinis; according to Séamus Ó Dúbháin (from Ard Mór, Cill Chiaráin) the flag was one which he used to wave at boats passing by her home in Leitir Calaidh."

THE SONG OF MUIGHINIS (translation from the Irish)

If I were three leagues out at sea or on mountains far from home,
without any living thing near me, but the green fern and heather,
snow being blown on me from the north and the wind whipping it off me,
and if I were conversing with my fair Taimín, I would not find the night long.

And, dear Mary, what will I do? This windter is coming on cold.
And, dear Mary, what will become of this house and all those in it?
Isn't it a pity now that I'm parting from you at the coming of the fine weather,
at the time when the cuckoo is making music and every green leaf growing?

If it was you who were dying and I were remaining behind,
I would be rearing your family for you, every night and every day.
Oh, I would walk the province with them, and over to the County Clare,
and I would not think, as long as I remained alive, of putting another man in your place.

Cut my coffin out for me, from the choicest bright boards;
and if Seán Hynes is in Muighinis, let it be made by his hand.
Let my cap and my ribbon be inside in it, and the nicely placed on my head,
and let me have three young women from the mountains to mourn me (when I'm) laid out.

And if I have my family at home the night that I die,
oh, won't they wake me worthily for three nights and three days?
They will have the white clay pipes, and kegs full,
and Big Páidín will bring me to Muighinis, or else the day will be rough.

And as I go west by Inse Ghainnimh ('Sandy Island'), let the flag be on the mast.
Oh, do not bury me in Leitir Calaidh, for it's not where my people are,
but bring me west to Muighinis, to the place where I will be mourned loundly;
the lights will be on the dunes, and I won't be lonely there.