Origins: Pen Eirinn I

Subject: Origins: Pen Eirinn I
From: GUEST,Lucy
Date: 30 Mar 26 - 09:04 AM

This is on piper Pat McNulty's 1992 cassette Autumn Apples. In the liner notes he says this is "Another great traditional song with a particularly haunting quality. I have never heard this song played on the pipes." I've looked for information about this beautiful tune without any success at all. Here's the cut from the tape.

Subject: RE: Origins: Pen Eirinn I
From: GUEST
Date: 31 Mar 26 - 09:01 AM

Pé In Éirinn Í - Whoe'er She Be


Sung and played by Muireann Nic Amhlaoibh & Eamonn Doorley, written by Liam Dall Ó Heffearnáin, (1720-1803) translated by Sean McMahon & Jo O'Donoghue. Nic Amhlaoibh has a verse between my 4 & 5 for which I can't find the words.

I ngleannta séimhe na héigse bím,
I bhfanntais péine i ngéibh gach laoi;
An tseangbhean ghlé ba bhéasach gnaoi
Do scanraigh mé, pé in Éirinn í,
Pé in Éirinn í!

Ní thráchtfaidh mé ar chéile Naois
Thug ár na nGael ar dteacht don Chraoibh,
Ná ar bháb ón nGréig do chéas an Traoi,
Le grá mo chléibh, pé in Éirinn í,
Pé in Éirinn í!

Is breá deas dréimreach réidh a dlaoi
Go barr an fhéir ina slaod ar bís;
A tláthfholt réidh dhealramh an Flís
Ar ghrá mo chlélbh, pé in Éirinn í,
Pé in Éirinn í!

Is cásmhar, taodach, déarach bím,
Go cráite, créimeach, céasta ó mhnaoi,
Is fánach, faon, gan chéill, ar baois,
Le grá don bhé, pé in Éirinn í,
Pé in Éirinn í!

Ar neoin nuair théim ar thaobh Shuí Finn,
Fé bhrón i gcéin is gan aon dem bhuín,
Cé sheolfadh Aon-Mhac Dé im líon
Ach stór mo chléibh, pé in Éirinn í,
Pé in Éirinn í!

When I must travail in poesy's sweet glens
Each stanza's conceived in sorrow's swoon;
'Tis that slender girl so passing fair
That brings the fit on, whoe'er she be,
Whoe'er she be!

I won't speak of Naoise's piece
Who wrecked the land when the red knights rode,
Nor the gal from Grecce who did for Troy,
When I think of my own love whoe'er she be,
Whoe'er she be!

Her hair is lovely, waved like the sea,
Cascading in curls till it sweeps the grass;
It's as smooth and bright as the Golden Fleece;
That's my love's hair whoe'er she be,
Whoe'er she be!

I'm tearful, sad and really down;
It's a woman who has me racked and sore.
I'm bothered, bewildered, lost it's sure
In the thrall of this damsel, whoe'er she be,
Whoe'er she be!

When I stray at high noon on Seefin's side
Lief alone in sorrow's clutch;
Then God's own Son sends her to me,
Who but my soul, whoe'er she be,
Whoe'er she be!

Subject: RE: Origins: Pen Eirinn I
From: GUEST,Guest, Lucy
Date: 01 Apr 26 - 04:30 AM

Oh, thanks so much! So glad to have people like you around.