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Tune Req: Glenroe theme / Cuaichin Ghleann Neifin
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Subject: Lyr Req: Cuaichin Ghleann Neifin (NOT Glenroe) From: keberoxu Date: 21 Jul 16 - 07:06 PM The original Gaelic lyrics to this other song have now been posted in Felipa's message no. 3801122, dated 19 July 2016, although there is a fifth, additional verse not given. Herewith, from Brian O'Rourke's "Blas Meala: A Sip from the Honey-Pot," is O'Rourke's literal (not singable) translation of a five-verse version of this particular song, with that fifth verse in Gaelic attached. THE LITTLE CUCKOO OF GLEN NEPHIN [English translation: Brian O'Rourke; tune, traditional Irish] There is long and luxuriant grass in a little glen far from home, and there are apples and wild plums growing high on the treetops there If my little treasure and I were married and life were going right for us There would be money in our pockets And the ale-woman would have the price of the drink There is a darkness over the stars, over the sun and over the moon and over the sight of my own eyes And I cannot see the pathways clearly on account of The little cuckoo of Glen Nephin, whom I have never managed to coax And oh, my little treasure, take me out of my pain for it's your fair appearance is weakening me If the whole of Ireland were mine, and Britain as well or all of the branching -- [this is where the words varied] It's to yourself I would give it In return for having my first love with me in the little valley of Ben Nephin or in Ballinafad Tá cailín óg deas ar bharr a' tsléibhe 'S is deas a' féirín í le mealladh Is do chaith mé fhéin an oíche aréir léi le súil 's go bhféadfainn í thabhairt abhaile Gur chúitíos le Seán Seoighe le góil romhamsa ar mo bhealach 'S gur bhain sé coróin dhíom ar mo lóistín agus sé pingne ar mo leaba There is a nice young girl on the mountaintop And she's a nice gift to try to win And I myself spent last night with her in the hope that I would be able to bring her home I paid back John Joyce for going before me on my way And he took a crown from me for my lodgings and sixpence for my bed And I will leave this place for it is very lonely And i will go seeking my thousand little treasures In every place where I hear news of her I cannot see the crossroads clearly And the tears are blinding me And it's my sharp grief that my lodging-house is not in the place where you make your bed pp. 26 - 27 Blas Meala: A Sip from the Honey-Pot Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 1985 © Brian O'Rourke |
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