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Lyr Add: Oran A 'Phrionnsa

RunrigFan 09 Jun 21 - 05:34 PM
RunrigFan 09 Jun 21 - 06:30 PM
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Subject: Lyr Add: Oran A 'Phrionnsa (Kathleen MacInnes)
From: RunrigFan
Date: 09 Jun 21 - 05:34 PM

trad

The Bonnie Prince Charlie and Flora MacDonald love story
Calum Peutan (Calum Eirdsidh Choinnich) 1931-2009, a
great piper from South Uist, learnt this song from
listening to Aonghas MacDhomhnaill Bhan
(Stoneybridge) working with his scythe, and as a child
he would sit behind a rock and listen to him singing
when he was having a rest. With many thanks to them
and Alan MacDonald, Calum Antonaidh Beaton, Prof.
Rob O'Maolalaigh, Decker Forrest and Dr. Uuilleam
Lamb for this song (insert Cille Bhride, CD, Kathleen MacInnes)


A dh'ionnsaigh cladach a' chuain ri fuar ghaoth an anmoich
Thàinig Teàrlach gu dealrach air Albann 's e sgìth
Cha robh reul air a bhroilleach no freiceadan 'falbh leis
Ach aithne nan gorm-shùil gu dealbhaich a lì
'S mar dhaoimein san oidhche bha a' mhaighdean fo thursa
'S i cràiteach mu Theàrlaich 'bhith a' fàgail a dhùthcha
'S bu trom a bha a h-osna 's bu ghoirt deòir bho sùilean
On a chunnaic i an iùbhrach a' dlùthadh ri tìr

Bha a' ghealach a' snàmh thar àirde nan stùc-bheann
'S a gathannan siùbhlach far dlùth-thonn a leum
Gu grad thug i 'n aire mar òigh air a ciùrradh
Gu sgàil air a gnùis ghil fo shiùil neòil nan speur
Dhan a' ghealach 's na reultan iad fhèin anns 's a ghorm-bhrat
Bha osna na gaoithe trom choibhneil a' falbh uainn
Bha gearain a' chuain an àm bualadh ri garbh-chreag
Mo lèir chreach air Albainn 's ann a mharbhadh na tréun

Sheas Flòraidh 's Teàrlach air tràigh nan tonn caoir-gheal
'S bu reub-critheach aoignealach an aogasg le cràdh
Cha robh facal fo 'm bilean ach sileadh gun fhaochadh
'S iad aodann ri aodann a' glaodhadh le gràdh
Nuair a thàining a' bhirlinn 'se a rìbhinn a thòisich
Le brist-ghuthan anabaich 's seanchas gun teòma
Mar chlàrsach 's a teudan gun ghleusadh gun òrdan
Bha reul nam ban-òga fo dhòrunn 's fo spàirn

'S a Theàrlaich Mhic Sheumais Mhic Sheumais nan cùirtean
Mar leònadh do chrùn bidh mar umbadh gun fheum
Mar leònadh na treun-laoich chan èirich 's cha dhùisg iad
Tha trom chadal dùint' shùileach udlaidh an eug
Cha ghlac iad an lann anns a' champ' ri uchd nàmhaid
Cha scap ian fir Shasainn mar as-buainn blàraibh
Chan fhaic iad a' bhratach cha ghlac iad air làimh i
Bidh sàile 's am bàs, air fad fàgail o chèil'

'S a Theàrlaich Mhic Sheumais ma dh' fheumas tu triall bhuain
Gu coimhead Mac Dè thu a fiaclan nan daoidh
Gun stiùir e an iùbhrach feadh dhlùth thonnainn fiadhaich
Gu rèidh-shligheach dian-shiùbhlach fìor-luath gu tìr
'S gum boillsg' iad san oidhche ort na soillsearan nèamhaidh
Gu shiùilmhòr gad stiùireadh gu dùthaich nach fheum thu
Nad òganach brònach fo chòmhdach na reubal'
Tha ala-bharrach èididh neo-spèiseil nan cridh'

O Albainn tha 'n t-àm aig do cheann a bhi a' dòrtadh
Do Phrionns' 'uat air fògradh 's tu lòchradh san uaigh
Tha crònan do phioban a sior dhiuilteadh ceòl dhut
'S do chlàrsairean ro-mhilis diombach ga chuair
Tha cruiteirean sgiamhach nan sior-chrannaibh sàmhach
Cha dòirt iad an ceilearadh ma bhroilleach mu Theàrlaich
Cha dùisg iad na treun-laoich a dh' eug anns an fhàsaich
Cha mhosgail o 'n bhàs iad aig àirdead a feum

Ach stad e 's le ròs-bhilean phòg e a' mhaighdinn
'S e siabadh gu coibhneil na deuran bho sùil
Glac sòlas, a Fhlòraidh, a òganaich Fhrangach
A dh' èireas neo-ghann rium a bhuannachd mo chrùn
Tha lasgairean ana-bhunach an Albainn a dhùisgeas
Le 'n trusgairean balla-bhreac 's le m' armailt math dùbailt
Thèid caithream nan garbh-chreach le borb sgread gu lùireadh
'S bidh trupairean crùbach gun lùths' anns gach cùl

Ach dh' fhàg e na h-aonar a' caoineadh air tràigh i
'S gun do dh' fhalbh e sa bhàta 's e fàsgadh man dòrn
A' chliabhair a' lìonadh le iargain làn sgàinidh
'S e airnseulach ànrachd gun mhànran gun cheòl
Laigh braonnan na h-oidhche air a' mhaighdinn ghlan àlainn
'S a h-ìnntinn air luasgan air chuan mar ri Teàrlach
Chan fhaic i e tuilleadh chum na buillean a phàigheadh
Ach mheudaich i gràdh dha gach là bha i beò.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Oran A 'Phrionnsa
From: RunrigFan
Date: 09 Jun 21 - 06:30 PM

Towards the shore of the ocean against the cold wind of the
late night. Charles came with radiance to Scotland, tired: there
was no star on his bosom or guard travelling with him but the
knowingness of the blue eyes radiating and like a diamond in
the night of the young woman was sad and in pain about Charles
leaving his country and heavy was her sigh and sore the tears
from her eyes when she saw the sailing gallery nearing land. (no punctuation

The moon was swimming over the heights of the jutting ben
and the dancing rays of the heavy leaping waves, suddenly
she noticed like a wounded virgin, to the shadow on her white
countenance under the eye of the clouds, to the moon and
the stars themselves blue-carpeted, the sighing of the wind
genially but sad, leaving us; the complaining of the ocean when
breaking on the massive rocks, the devastation on Scotland
where the brave were killed

Flora and Charles stood on the shore of Dùn Caoil with them,
and heart-torn emaciated their countenance with pain, there
was no word from his lips but crying without respite, and they
were face-to-face crying with love, when the gallery arrived it
was the young lady that began broken voices and inept
communication, like an un-tuned disorderly harp, the beautiful
young ladies were anguished and agonised.

Charles, son of Seumas, son of Seumas of justice, as your
crown was wounded like a coward of no avail, if the brave heroes are wounded they will not rise or wake up, a closed
eye nightmare the darkness of death, they wont take the
sword in the camp against the enemy, they wont scatter the
Saxon men like stubble in the fields, they will not see the flag
and they won't capture it, the sea, death, leaving us all apart.

So Charles, son of Seumas, if you have to leave us that the
Son of God will look at you from the 'teeth of the wicked' that
he guides the sailing galley through wild countries, safely,
swiftly and adroitly to a place of refuge, and that the heavenly
lights will shine brightly upon you at night, full sailed (easily)
guiding you to a country that you do not need, as a sad young
man under the mantle of being a rebel, the wild dress is not to
their liking.

O Scotland the time has come for your head to be pouring
Your Prince away in exile from you and you soaking in the
grave, the murmuring of the pipes are refusing to produce
music for you, and your so-sweet harpers are disdainful all the#
time, the fiddlers of best wood are silent, they will not
pour praise on the bosom of Charles, they will not waken the
great heroes that died in the wilderness, but stir from death#at the point of greatest need.

But he stopped and with red lips he kissed the
young woman, and wiping kindly, the tears from her
eye (said) "Take heart Flora from young Frenchman,
that not a few will rise with me to win my crown, the
less radical youths in Scotland who awake, with their
outfits of variegated tartans and (my) cunning army, the
spirit of the great plunders with fierce screeching will turn to
torment, and lame troopers without strength will be in every
place.

But he left her on her own crying on the shore, and he went
away in the boat and whilst becoming angry, his whole corpus
filling with grief about to burst, sorrowful, distressed without
happiness or music, the night dew lay on the beautiful pure
woman, and her mind heaving on the ocean with Charles, she
never saw him again to recompense for the injuries, but her
love for him grew each day she was alive.

(done)


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Mudcat time: 15 June 12:38 PM EDT

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