Úirchill an Chreagáin

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1 fhreagra amháin ar “Úirchill an Chreagáin

  1. Risteard Ó Meachair

    Hi, b’fhéidir nach bhfuil an t-aistriúchán seo foirfe ach is mo dhícheall é!

    Úirchill an Chreagáin

    She had a hot mouthed cry and _____ in her bosom like gold
    So that it was very unhealthy to be looking at the young queen.’
    ‘Ó charitable kind men don’t spend time in a sad appearance
    but raise your standing and move with me down the road
    to a country of nice honey where Foreigners hadn’t permission to rule yet
    as you’d find the joy of halls enticing you with musical entertainment.’

    ‘I wouldn’t refuse your invitation to where they gather the kings of gold
    but I was a coward to separate from my friends who are still in the country;
    that woman whom I wooed with my promise once when she was young,
    if I would abandon her now peers would know she was in sadness.’

    ‘I don’t think they’re friends of yours who survive of your living relatives –
    you’re stripped, without possessions, poor, mistaken, foolish, hopeless;
    wouldn’t it be better for you to go with the tender handed maiden
    or for the country to be jeering about every outburst ‘of music’ you’d make?’

    ‘Ó sweet nice queen, are you Helen for whom crowds were transfixed
    or are you of the nine nice women of Parnassus who are written about?
    Which country in the world were you educated, o unmisted star,
    In which you wish my image to be chatting with you down the road.’

    ‘Don’t ask of me chests of gold I don’t sleep beside the Boyne;
    I’m a little fairy child who was educated by Young Gráinne;
    In a fairy fort of the professors I plainly do create music,
    At night in Tara and in the morning in the plain of Tyrone.’

    ‘Tis my sick sore cry that we wanted Irishmen of Tyrone
    and the heritage of the Territory joyless wrongly decaying,
    the colourful limbs of Niall Frasaigh who wouldn’t give up the music
    and Christmas clothes would be put on the professors who’d be submitting to them. ‘

    ‘Since the farmers who were in Aughrim and alas at the Boyne were defeated,
    the descendants of Éire, the royals who used to give shelter to every poet without a word,
    wouldn’t it be better for you in the fairy forts and me by your side every afternoon
    or for the arrows of the descendants of Bull to be piercing your heart forever?’

    ‘Ó sweet nice queen, if you’re my destined for me as my love,
    give me strength and a promise before we go down the road,
    if I die around the Shannon, in the land of Mann or in great Egypt,
    in the fragrant church ground of Cragan may I be laid in soil beneath the earth.’

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