10. Is Moch, Moch ar Maidin
Micho learned this song from Sean Devitt
whom he regarded as a fine singer. Interestingly enough he also recalls
his neighbour, Jerome Conole, singing it. It was from the latter singer
that a collector for The Irish Folklore Commission noted down this song
is 1936. This is reproduced in Marian Gunn’s superb collection of
song texts in Clare Irish, ‘A Chómharsain Éistigí
(An Clóchomhar Tta, B.Á.C., 1984, pp. 100-101.)
1
Ó, is moch, moch ar maidin is mé i mo luí ar mo leaba,
Cé ghluais chugham ach cailín breá teann ’s
a grua mar an rós.
Ba bhinne ná an talamh í, is ná an chláírseach
lá Márta,
Is ní imeoidh mise choíche go bhfaighidh mé Bríd
Ní Mhaoileoin.
2
’Tis early one morning as the day was first dawning,
Her lips by far sweeter and her cheeks like the rose;
She’s fair, oh, she’s handsome, may the birds quit the branches,
And we’ll all die in concert for you, Bríd Ní Mhaoileoin.
3
A Bhríd, ó mo chuisle, ná bí-sé chomh
dochtach,
Is go dtréigfeá do Sheán bocht im’ bhuaireamh
ná im’ bhrón;
’Sé do chroí ceansach a theannas ar dtús,
Tá céad faoi bhrón agat a Bhríd Ní
Mhaoileoin.
4
Biddy, my jewel, why are you so cruel
As to leave your poor Johnny here wanderin’ alone?
Twas your fair beauty was the cause of my ruination.
There are thousands lying wounded for you, Bríd Ní Mhaoileoin.
5
Dá mbeinnse do mo thórramh, ’s mo chónra á
dhéanamh,
Sibhse ag mo shochraid ’s mé ag dul chun na cille:
Dá n-airíodh mo Bhríd é, táim suíte
go mbeadh sí buartha,
Is le aon phóigín amháin go leigheasfadh sí
mé.
6
If I were a-waking, my coffin bein’ making,
Yea, in my funeral and I going to my grave:
If my darling would hear it I’m sure she’d be grieving;
One kiss from her sweet lips would rise me again.
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