Journal of the Irish Folk Song Society, Volume 2, Issue 8, Page 11

Irish Folk Song Society

[Periodical]

Journal of the Irish Folk Song Society

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2021Th Coiilin, as played in Co. Cork, by an Irish harper, and submitted toBunting by the Rev. W. H. Mease, This version is of interest, as it throws light on- the life of this incomparable melody. The melody remains much the same, under thetouch of the Co. Cork harper. Other harpers have preserved this air, but I nowrescue this version of the Rev. Mr. Mease from oblivion: a. M. Fox.,1 18cLLr tJ 1rji . ft r I J ft-a-P I-I _s..,4, I V i: r ? J 1 i r1rI - - ii ,- _ Wg ,L.J..iLThis beautiful Gaelic ballad with its English translation I selected from theBunting papers, as I found the air along with the two others jotted dowA on the backof an inventory belonging to Mr. Edward Bunting, 1804, Belfast. I dont know anyversions of the air, but would be glad to hear from other collectors if they have any-thing similar.MTJBRISK (NO AOIBHNIOS NA CCUAN).Trabh smuainiom ar fhad uaim siar i an ehruschBion mo chroidh stigh ga bit ages maigneadfa gbruaimNil na daoine se mar ehleaoht mar aoibhernhuilno snairohAch mar iomhaighe da glues dair a snaoidhfidhtnagh.Ceud sian don teach ad ann a sebin unitAr mo thrathuibh mhr Thada laimh leis acoruaichBheadh an ceolta bin o fhlaithios gabhailchugnin a missAges an sleibhte our meala o dheas so thuaigh.Ach da tugaidh an teas agus go labhraidb anChuachDo thriallainse an mals agus dheana me moohuairtMunab an mhlaoht sa geall mhuint thugasfain don OurdNi threigin fein Muruisg no aoibhnios an conan.Nil sleibhte nil oumaigh nil mointe breaghfraoiohNil main seacha cnuic no aimhneacha fuiNar shiubhul me gee tuirse a neonibh gach leeA Shell go bhfeicin a Chuach ages ShruighSc me.Ni feidir a ceana oh sni dioltar I an stualnaMan Eire ni ghlacain agusi bheith naimMar einin beag o Thlaithios chimsi fein i ohuaoSgur be grian a teamraidh thog mo ohraebhinbheag uaim.C. M. Fox.MTJRBISK.When I think how far the Cruach lies Westfrom mc,It wounds my heart within and sinks my spirits.These people here are neither social nor cheer.ful like what we have seen,But like images of green oak hewn out withan axe.A thousand farewells to the Abbey where theyreadThe long matins and hours by the side of theCruaeh,Where the sweetest music sounds from heavencoming down,And the mountains yield honey from theSouth and the North.But if warm weather came and the cuckoobegan to sing,I should travel back and revisit that place;But for the promise of obedience I gave to theorder,I would not forsake Murrisk, nor the delightsof the coast.Over mountains, and bogs, and moors of fineheath,Qver hills and the banks of fair rivers below,I have travelled with desire morning and noonTo hear the cuckoo, but it was yet too soon.Like Wisdom, she cannot be bought nor sold.I would rather see her than the finest lady inthe land;As & little bird from heaven I see my cuckoo.It wsa the summer sun that took my charmeraway.V

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[Periodical]

1967-01-01T00:00:00

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