Mo Ghile Mear
"Mo Ghile Mear" (My Gallant Darling) is an old Irish song, written in the Irish language by Seán Clárach Mac Domhnaill in the 18th century. Composed in the convention of Aisling poetry, it is a lament by the Gaelic goddess Éire for Bonnie Prince Charlie, who was then in exile.
The song differs from more "conventional" Aisling poems. Whereas Aisling poetry normally has the poet asleep or otherwise minding his own business when he experiences a dream or vision of a fair maid, in this poem the poet personifies Éire/Ireland, the country itself, as a woman who once was a fair maiden but is now a widow. Her husband, the "Gallant Boy", is not dead but far away. As a consequence the land is failing and nature itself is in decline. This is a theme also used in "Séan Uí Dhuibhir a' ghleanna".
Lyrics
- Sé mo laoch mo Ghile Mear
- ‘Sé mo Chaesar, Ghile Mear,
- Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas féin
- Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear.
- 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 imigéin.
- Bímse buan ar buairt gach ló,
- Ag caoi go cruaidh ‘s ag tuar na ndeór
- Mar scaoileadh uaim an buachaill beó
- ‘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 sé uaim an buachaill beó.
- Ghile Mear ‘sa seal faoi chumha,
- ‘S Eire go léir faoi chlócaibh dubha;
- Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas féin
- Ó cuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear.
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- He's my champion my Gallant Darling,
- He's my Caesar, a Gallant Darling,
- I've found neither rest nor fortune
- Since my Gallant Darling went far away.
- Once I was gentle maiden,
- But now I'm a spent, worn-out widow,
- My consort strongly plowing the waves,
- Over the hills and far away.
- Every day I'm constantly enduring grief,
- Weeping bitterly and shedding tears,
- Because my lively lad has left me
- And no news is told of him - alas.
- The cuckoo doesn't sing cheerfully after noon,
- And the sound of hounds isn't heard in the nut-tree woods,
- Nor a summer morning in a misty glen
- Since my my lively boy went away from me.
- Gallant Darling for a while under sorrow,
- And Ireland completely under black cloaks;
- I have found neither rest nor fortune
- Since my Gallant Darling went far away.
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Recordings
References