Lumiere

Irish music from Pauline Scanlon and Éilís Kennedy

Cailín deas Crúte na mBó

Tá bliain is níos mó agam ag éisteacht

Le cogar doilíosach mo mheoin

Ó casadh liom grá gheal mo chléibhe

Tráthnóna beag déanach sa bhfomhar

Bhí an bhó bhainne cumhra ag géimeach

Is na héanlaith go meidhreach ag ceol

ar bhruach an t-srutháin ar leath-taobh dom

Bhí  cailín deas crúite na mbó

 

Tá a súile mar lonradh na gréine

Ag scaipeadh tré spéarthaibh an cheoidh

Is is deirge a grua ná na caortha

Ar lasadh i measc craobha na gcnoc

a béilÌn níos milse ná sméartha

Is is gile ná leamhnacht a snó

Níl ógbhean níos deise sa tsaol so

Ná cailín deas crúite na mbó

Dá bhfaighinnse árd Tiarnas na hÉireann

Éadacha, síoda is sróil

Dá bhfaighinnse an bhanríon is airde

Dá bhfuil ar an dtalamh so beo

Dá bhfaighinnse céad loingis mar spré dhom

Píolóidi, caisleáin is óir

Do bfhearr liom bheith fán ar na sléibhte

Lem chailín deas crúite na mbó

Muna bhfuil sé i ndán dom bheith in éineacht

Leis an spéirbhean ró-dhílis ˙liom  fós

Is daoirseach, dubhrónach mo shaolsa

Gan suaimhneas, gan éifeacht, gan treo

Ní bheidh sólás im chroÌ ná im intinn

Ná suaimhneas orm oiche nó ló

Go  bhfaigh mise saor óna muintir

Mo chailÌn deas crúite na mbó

 

Translation:

 The Pretty maid Milking the Cow

I have listened for a year or more

To my mind’s deep doleful whispers

Since I met the bright love of my heart

Late one fine Autumn’s evening

The sweet milk cow was lowing

And birds were joyful in music

On the bank of a stream beside me

Was a pretty maid milking the cow

 

Her eyes are like the shining suns rays

Scattering through a foggy sky

Her cheeks more rosy than rowans

Alight amongst the hillsides

Her little mouth more sweet than berries

And her skin as pale as buttermilk

There’s no nicer girl in all this world

Than the pretty maid milking the cow

 

If I had the high Lordship of all Ireland

Garments, silks and satin

If I had the highest of all Queens

Who lived on this earth

If I had a hundred ships in dowry

Palaces, castles and gold

I would rather be roaming the hillsides

With my pretty maid milking the cow

 

If it is not my fate to be with

That loyal and beautiful woman

My life will be sorrowful and gloomy

Without joy, without use, without aim

No comfort in my mind or in my heart

No peace by night or by day

Until she’s free from her people and by my side

My pretty maid milking the cow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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