Sons Of Erin

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Hi all, for all those who don't know what the title means, it means Irishman. This is just a fraction of what I have done now. Please excuse the wierd words, they are Gaelic.

Welcome now my friend. How are ye? And the missus? Hah! A whip of a tongue she has, told ye so. So what would ye be needin’?, A tale? That is a strange request, I’ll tell ye one of me favorites though, nice long one too, very old as well. Any way.

At first there was nothing, the wild moors were silent, decrypt of noise, and light. All except for a small encampment, there were no tents, just an open fire, and bedrolls piled around. There, making a ring around the fire, were ten men, all with their fine mahogany bows resting among their laps. Together they sang, in unison, like how they fought, in unison. Their voices roared a melody, drowning all noise, if there were any.

“B'aite liom féin a bheith 'r thaoibh mhalaidh shléibhe
'Gus cailín Gaelach a bheith 'mo chóir
Bheinn dá bréagadh is a' teannadh léithe
'Gus dar liom féin 'riú gur dheas ar ndóigh.
'G éirí domh féin ar maidin an lae ghil
'S mé ag gabháil fán choill chraobhaigh is mé ag seoladh bó
Tharlaigh domh 'n spéirbhean 'na suí ar a' léana
'S a fallaing léithe is í lán de chnódhann'.
D'fhiafair mé daoithe go ciúin 's go céillí
An nglacfaidh tú póg uaim, a stór mo chroí?
D'fhoscail sí a béilín 'gus labhair sí
Béarla Sé dúirt sí: Pray, sir, and let me be.
'S maith an airí ar na buaibh s sanntú
'Gus bheinnse dá seoladh amuigh sa lá
Im agus bainne ghil ar theacht an tsamhraidh
'S mar gheall ar bhólacht a phóstar mná.”

It was a simple song, in their mother tongue, no hint of the Norman pollution. They sang as if there was no tomorrow. And of course, there may not be. They drank freely tonight, escaping the formalities of military life and talked even more vulgarly, disregarding all polite parlance. They loved this freedom, every one of them. Yet nagging in the back off their minds was the sinking knowledge that they would have to return to the fort soon. The shadows grew as the ale was slowing down, the food was eaten, and the drinks were near gone. But they did not tire, there never did, they would not allow themselves to, not until the Normans were expelled, not until the O'Ceallaigh name was restored to it’s rightful place. Damn those Normans! They had taken everything from us! But this hatred did not seep into tonight’s merriment. Nay, they would not let it happen. When they weren’t drinking and eating, they were singing, singing the only songs they knew, the songs they grew up with. There was one among them that was quite the nightingale, not much to look at, but had a fine voice.

“Sing us another one Kealen!”
“But which one? There is too many of them up in me head…” he trailed off. Now was the fun part, as the remaining men competed with the others for their song to be heard. Finally one got through.
“Níl sé ina lá!” it pierced the air loudly. And other voices soon erupted in agreement. “Aye! That one!” And so on. Kealen smiled and shook his head. “Why must ye all test me so?” he asked, but before any could answer, he broke out into the song, it carried on sweetly as the men laid back and listened.
“Chuaigh mé isteach i dteach aréir
Is d'iarr mé cairde ar mhnaoi an leanna.
Is é dúirt sí liom "Ní bhfaighidh tú deor.
Buail an bóthar is gabh abhaile."
Níl sé ina lá, níl a ghrá,
Níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go maidin,
Níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go fóill,
Solas ard atá sa ghealaigh.
Chuir mé féin mo lámh i mo phóca
Is d'iarr mé briseadh scillinge uirthi.
Is é dúirt sí liom "Suigh síos ag bord
Is bí ag ól anseo go maidin."
Níl sé ina lá, níl a ghrá,
Níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go maidin,
Níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go fóill,
Solas ard atá sa ghealaigh.
"Éirigh i do shuí, a fhear an tí,
Cuir ort do bhrístí is do hata
Go gcoinne tú ceol leis an duine cóir
A bheas ag ól anseo go maidin."
Níl sé ina lá, níl a ghrá,
Níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go maidin,
Níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go fóill,
Solas ard atá sa ghealaigh.
Nach mise féin an fear gan chéill
A d'fhág mo chíos in mo scornaigh?
D'fhág mé léan orm féin
Is d'fhág mé séan ar dhaoine eile.
Níl sé ina lá, níl a ghrá,
Níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go maidin,
Níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go fóill,
Solas ard atá sa ghealaigh.”

The song ended, and for once the men felt tired, but not just tired, they felt mortal. They stared up at the stars as Kealen stayed silent, just sitting there, silent. Then one of the men turned on the young one.
“Is dócha nach bhfuil seans ar bith ann.” He murmured to the child, obviously making fun of his voice being like a woman’s. The group burst out laughing, the child blushed and turned away, forcing more hysterical fits of laughter upon the others. The laughing however soon subsided with the crackle of the leaves. The men looked up, intent, maybe they would see some action, maybe not. The fitted their discarded bows with arrows, looking intently at the spot the noise originated. Blood lust shone in their eyes, intent on the hunt.

[ September 16, 2003, 01:46: Message edited by: Erebus ]

 

Have you a translation of the lyrics, or perhaps a link?

Interesting so far.

 

Aye, record yer voice and sing it lad. i want to hear the song