Journal of the Irish Folk Song Society, Volume 4, Issue 20, Page 4

Journal of the Irish Folk Song Society, Volume 4, Issue 20, Page 4
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Irish Folk Song Society
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Journal of the Irish Folk Song Society
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678 Tuigim 6 n.bhiir bhfriotalaibh gur tread sibh ghluais() imeall cnuio gan foithin no stOigeach ruadh,Gan de chuM agaibh le n-ithe acht giorae bocht truagh,T gur fiosaoh dIbh an chruithneaeht i n-Uibh -Laoghaire ar buaint.9 Mo ghreann-sa na leabhair.fhir do bfhearra trOitbe,Niir rainharuigh Ba tsainhradh Ic grafadh sl6ibhte;l3biodh annsa led shamhail-se is gur mhaith do bhCile,Is gan amhras na gceann teacht nior bhaistear d iinne.1 I travelled many a long mile from the east,Making for this ill-favoured western land;Many are the grey hills, in ridges from top to bobtow,And my word! I shouldnt care to settle down there.2 Theres no dwelling-place there, nor lodging awaiting me,Shelter from the elements, houqeholders nor herds of kine;Nothing but gloomy, heather. clad hills, and I hear, too,That it is seldom they lack a cap of cloud.3 Hells own mist gathers there, and a north wind,The music of contention is common there among those haughty ones;If I should venture near those hills and look upOh, I should be destroyed if one of them fell down on me!4 Ii the great mountain-rock should fall down on top of meTwoulci be shameful for one like me to be buried beneath it;O King of the Angels, Who created form and substance,Take me back happily to my home by the Bandon!5 Beside Bandon of the lithe trout I spent a while,Where fat goats are frisking each sunny morning,Where there are kindly, slender maidens, fair and stately,And indeed I should love to go and look at them for a time.(Another poet speaks.)6 Fellow.poets of the lovely Lee,Melodious in discourse and merry in talk,Let us sit and quaff a bowl of punchThe while we retaliate on this lubber who abused our hills.7 1 heas 1 an arrow (i.e. a story) that dealt me a mortal wound,That there Caine among us a clumsy, ill-mannered priest.Who annoyed our company, and wrongfully soorned the mountains,8 I gather from your talk that ye are a tribe who hailFrom a shelterless hill-foot.or from a red mountainy patch,With nothing to eat but a poor, sorry hare,And ye well know that wheat is grown in Iveleary.9 My delight is thoselimber, mannerly menWho never got fat in the summer-time, through hoeing the mountains;They were kind to the like of you and entertained you well,And verily one could not but profit by a sojourn among them.This song was composed in the early part of last century by one Father Domh nailO Niadh (Neville), on the occasion of his transfer from Bandon to be parish priest inIveleary. He travelled west on horseback, and when he i-cached the heights ofKilbarry and beheld the rugged, mountainy land of Iveleary, he was so overcomewith melancholy that he gave vent to his feelings in the above lines. Verses 15are in conachlann., i.e. the opening word of the second and each succeeding verse is arepetition of the last word or phrase of the verse immediately preceding. Verses 69are the reply of another poet, by name Domhnall O Sdilleabhdin, a native of thelocality. Verse 3, line 2, refers to the Fallen Angels.The air is a caoine or lament and, with the quaint refrain, is quite in accord withthe half-humorous, half-melancholy character of the words. The refrain is pro-nounced, approximately, eye, you, you, etc.The river Bandon rises in S.W. Cork and flows into Kinsale estuary. The Irishfor the town of Bandon is Droichead na Banndan or Droichead Banndan ( BandonBridge). Iveleary is a well-known parish in West Cork.The puzzling word brIogair prevents a translation of the last line of verse 7,which seems to convey sonic kind of imprecation. - D. J. 0S.For the rise to the octave at the end of the tune, which is characteristic ofCaoiue, compare the ending of the Oaoine Ma.gaidh in last years Journal (No. 19)p. 21. A. M. F.
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Journal of the Irish Folk Song Society, Volume 4, Issue 20

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