Category Archive '“Mo Ghile Mear”'

19 Mar 2018

Mo Ghile Mear

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John Pettie, Bonnie Prince Charlie Entering the Ballroom at Holyroodhouse, 1892, National Museum of Scotland.

“Mo Ghile Mear” (My Gallant Darling) is an Irish song, composed by Seán Clárach Mac Domhnaill (1691–1754) as a lament by the Gaelic goddess Éire for Bonnie Prince Charlie.

Seal da rabhas im’ mhaighdean shéimh,
‘S anois im’ bhaintreach chaite thréith,
Mo chéile ag treabhadh na dtonn go tréan
De bharr na gcnoc is i n-imigcéin.

‘Sé mo laoch, mo Ghile Mear,
‘Sé mo Chaesar, Ghile Mear,
Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas féin
Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear.

Bímse buan ar buairt gach ló,
Ag caoi go cruaidh ‘s ag tuar na ndeor
Mar scaoileadh uaim an buachaill beo
‘S ná ríomhtar tuairisc uaidh, mo bhrón

Ní labhrann cuach go suairc ar nóin
Is níl guth gadhair i gcoillte cnó,
Ná maidin shamhraidh i gcleanntaibh ceoigh
Ó d’imthigh uaim an buachaill beó.

Marcach uasal uaibhreach óg,
Gas gan gruaim is suairce snódh,
Glac is luaimneach, luath i ngleo
Ag teascadh an tslua ‘s ag tuargain treon.

Is cosúil é le hAonghus Óg,
le Lughaidh Mac Chéin na mbéimeann mór,
le Conchubhar cáidhmhac Náis na nós,
taoiseach aoibhinn Chraoibhe an cheoil.

Seinntear stair ar chlairsigh cheoil
‘s líontair táinte cárt ar bord
Le hinntinn ard gan chaim, gan cheó
Chun saoghal is sláinte d’ fhagháil dom leómhan.

Ghile mear ‘sa seal faoi chumha,
‘s Eire go léir faoi chlócaibh dubha;
Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas féin
Ó luaidh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear.

——————————————————-

My Dashing Darling

For a while I was a gentle maiden
And now a spent worn-out widow
My spouse ploughing the waves strongly
Over the hills and far away.

He is my hero, my dashing darling
He is my Caesar, dashing darling.
I’ve had no rest from forebodings
Since he went far away my darling.

I’m incessantly sorrowing each day,
Lamenting sorely and showing signs of tears
As the lively lad has been separated from me
And no news from him is told, my sadness.

The cuckoo sings not pleasantly at noon
And the sound of hounds is not heard in nut woods,
Nor summer morning in misty glen
Since he went away from me, my lively boy.

Noble, proud young horseman
Warrior unsaddened, of most pleasant countenance
A swift-moving hand, quick in a fight,
Slaying the enemy and smiting the strong.

He is like Aonghus Óg,
like Lughaidh Mac Chéin of the big blows,
like Conor the venerable son of renowned Nás,
the delightful leader of music’s embellishment.

Let a strain be played on musical harps
And let many quarts be filled
With high spirit without fault or mist
For life and health to toast my lion.

Dashing darling for a while under sorrow
And all Ireland under black cloaks
Rest or pleasure I did not get
Since he went far away my dashing darling.


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