Irisleabhar na Gaedhilge/Imleabhar 5/Uimhir 3/An Ridire Brianach

←Anecdota from Irish MSS. XI

Irisleabhar na Gaedhilge, Imleabhar V, Uimh. 3  (1894)  An Ridire Brianach

Cearbhall Buidhe na n-Abhrán→

[ 41 ]

A SONG FROM CORK.

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[ 41 ]

AN RIDIRE BRIANACH.

Uilliam Buingeán cct.

	[ 42 ] Translation.
[ 41 ] Hurá! a Ridire ċumasaiġ Bhrianaiġ! Hurá! a Ridire ṫrúpa na srianta! Hurá! a leinḃ nár geineaḋ as fiaḋaile, Aċt as ceart-lár ríġṫe ’ġníoḋ dliġṫe ⁊ riaġalta!	[ 42 ] Hurra! stately knight of Brian’s race! Knight of the troops with bridles! Child not sprung from weeds (low rank), But from the very midst of kings who gave laws and rules
[ 41 ] Mo ġráḋ-sa an leanḃ nár easguir[1] i n-éinfeaċt, Aċt d’ḟás seaċd dtroiġṫe go tara le ċéile;[2] Mac an ṁarcaiġ do ġreadaḋ na méirliġ Ó Léim an Chapaill go M’alla na méaṫ-ṁart. Hurá! a Ridire ⁊c.	[ 42 ] My love, the child that sprang not to maturity all at once, But grew seven feet, vigorous and together; The son of the horseman who used to scourge the thieves From the horse-leap to Mallow of the fat beeves. Hurra! &c.
[ 41 ] Sin laċt luinge ’na ṫuille tré ṡliaḃ ċuġainn D’ḟíon ḃreaġ ḃorb gan doċal[3] ’n-a ḋiaiḋ ḋúinn! Líontar gloine agus fiċe ċum ’Liaim de! Sláinte an Ridire ċumasaiġ Bhrianaiġ Hurá! a Ridire ⁊c.	[ 42 ] Behold a shipload (coming) to us, as a flood through a mountain, Of beautiful rich wine, and no grudge for us after it. Let a glass and a score be filled of it for William The health of the stately knight of Brian’s race! Hurra! &c.
[ 41 ] Ní’l fiú leanḃ ná seana-ḃean ċríonda O Bhunraite go Mainistir Ínse Naċ ḃfuil ag preabaḋ ċum baluiṫe an ḟíona, A’s é tá ċaiṫeaṁ ag maiṫiḃ na tíre! Hurá! a Ridire ⁊c.	[ 42 ] There is not a child, nor a withered old woman From Bunratty to Monaster Inch, That is not springing up at the smell of the wine, While it is being consumed by the nobles of the land. Hurra! &c.
[ 41 ] D’ ḟíontaiḃ dearga laċtanna a’s cróna[4] Píopaiḋe beaṫuisge, meadraċa beóraċ, Bíom[5] dá mblaiseaḋ—go mblais- eam[5] go tóin iad, ’S go dtéiḋ an ġealaċ i ḃfolaċ ’n-ár mbrógaiḃ! Hurá! a Ridire ⁊c.	[ 42 ] Of red wines, shiploads! and of nut-brown (wines)! Pipes of brandy! methers of beer! Let us be tasting them until we taste them to the bottom! And until the moonlight hides itself in our shoes! [The above is sent by the writer of An Fhéir, who also contributes the following article on Cearḃall Buiḋe.]

[ 42 ]

Notes.

1.   easguir, said of the bursting of the ear of corn.
2.   le ċéile, by steady degrees; i ndiaiḋ a ċéile deuntar na caisleáin, “by degrees the castles are built.”
3.   Doċal, a common pronunciation of doiċeall, churlishness.
4.   Perhaps we should read fíonta dearga laċtna ⁊ cróna = red, yellow and brown wines.
5.   Bíom, blaiseam, now usually bímís, blaisimís.