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"Báidín Fheilimí" is a bright little children's song about a man and his boat...wrecking!
To quote G.K. Chesterton,
For the Great Gaels of Ireland
Are the men that God made mad,
For all their wars are merry
And all their songs are sad.
To cheer things up a bit, I've tagged on "Love Is", 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8a, which I set to the tune around 2009.
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Báidín Fheilimí (Irish Gaelic, traditional)
Báidín Fheilimí d’imigh go Gabhla,
Báidín Fheilimí is Feilimí ann.
Báidín Fheilimí d’imigh go Gabhla,
Báidín Fheilimí is Feilimí ann.
Chorus:
Báidín bídeach, báidín beosach,
Báidín bóidheach, báidín Fheilimí.
Báidín díreach, báidín deontach,
Báidín Fheilimí is Feilimí ann.
Báidín Fheilimí d’imigh go Toraí,
Báidín Fheilimí is Feilimí ann.
Báidín Fheilimí d’imigh go Toraí,
Báidín Fheilimí is Feilimí ann.
Báidín Fheilimí briseadh i dToraí,
Báidin Fheilimí is Feilimi ann.
Báidín Fheilimí briseadh i dToraí,
Báidin Fheilimí is Feilimi ann.
===English translation===
Phelim's little boat went to Gola,
Phelim's little boat and Phelim in it.
Phelim's little boat went to Gola,
Phelim's little boat and Phelim in it.
Chorus
A tiny boat, a lively boat,
A charming boat, Phelim's little boat.
A straight boat, a willing boat,
Phelim's little boat and Phelim in it.
Phelim's little boat went to Tory,
Phelim's little boat and Phelim in it.
Phelim's little boat went to Tory
Phelim's little boat and Phelim in it.
Phelim's little boat was wrecked off of Tory,
Phelim's little boat and Phelim in it.
Phelim's little boat was wrecked off of Tory,
Phelim's little boat and Phelim in it.
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2. |
Siúil a Rún
03:57
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Although this traditional love song is centuries old, its provenance is debatable. Several versions and interpretations exist. It is sung from the point of view of a woman, urging her lover on (potentially to escape in exile rather than be forced to join the army). She willingly sacrifices to help him on his way - one traditional verse could indicate she sells herself in his support, so to do away with ambiguity I've revised it to suggest honest work and mourning. Creative license, wot?
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Siúil, siúil, siúil a rún
(Go, go, go, my love)
Siúil go sochair agus siúil go ciúin
(Go quietly and go peacefully)
Siúil go doras agus éalaigh liom
(Go to the door and fly with me)
Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán
(And may you go safely, my darling)
I wish I was on yonder hill
'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill
Until every tear would turn a mill
Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán
(And may you go safely, my darling)
I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel
I'll sell my only spinning wheel
To buy my love a sword of steel
Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán
(And may you go safely, my darling)
I wish, I wish, I wish in vain
I wish I had my heart again
And vainly think I'd not complain
Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán
(And may you go safely, my darling)
I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them black
And to my work I’ll bend my back
And cry aloud, alas, alack
Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán
(And may you go safely, my darling)
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3. |
Bonny Portmore
02:32
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Tree-huggers have been around for a while, I guess. This song tells the story of the Portmore “ornament” tree, an old oak that fell in a windstorm in 1760, said to have been 14 yards in circumference. It also laments the loss of Ireland’s oak forests, sold off to English lords when money was tight, and subsequently felled.
This song feels personal to me, since I truly mourn as neighbors cut down tree after tree! (If you’ve ever felt this pain, you should also look up the poem “Binsey Poplars” by Gerard Manley Hopkins).
Loreena McKennitt sings a beautiful version of this song.
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O bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand
And the more I think on you the more I think long
If I had you now as I had once before
All the lords in Old England would not purchase Portmore.
O bonny Portmore, I am sorry to see
Such a woeful destruction of your ornament tree
For it stood on your shore for many's the long day
Till the long boats from Antrim came to float it away.
All the birds in the forest they bitterly weep
Saying, "Where shall we shelter or where shall we sleep?"
For the Oak and the Ash, they are all cutten down
And the walls of bonny Portmore are all down to the ground.
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I love this haunting, lilting Scottish song.
I've never lived in a place with real mountains to speak of, but part of me thinks I have... they make me feel at home.
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Chorus:
Oh ro soon shall I see them;
Oh he ro see them oh see them.
Oh ro soon shall I see them
The mist covered mountains of home.
There shall I visit the place of my birth
And they'll give me a welcome the warmest on earth,
So loving and kind, full of music and mirth
In the sweet Celtic language of home.
There shall I gaze on the mountains again,
On the fields and the woods, the burns and the glens,
Away 'mong the corries beyond human ken
In the haunts of the deer I will roam
Hail to the mountains with summits of blue,
To the glens with their meadows of sunshine and dew.
To the women and men ever constant and true,
Ever ready to welcome one home
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I learned this Irish nationalist song when I was fourteen, and promptly changed the lyrics to, "her age when fourteen". :) It probably originated in the 1920s. Some versions refer to the English soldier's "black steed" rather than his "machine".
The recording I learned was a medley with "Tabhair Dom Do Lámh" ("Give Me Your Hand"), a tune said to have been written by Ruaidri Dáll Ó Catháinin the 17th century. I followed suit here.
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In the bold Galtee Mountains, so far far away
I'll tell you a story that happened one day
about a young girl, her age was sixteen
and she carried a banner white orange and green.
And a young English soldier was passing that way
he saw the young girl with her banner so gay
he laughed and he joked and got off his machine
determined to capture white orange and green.
"Oh, you can't have my banner" the young girl replied
"Till your blood and mine on the bold Galtees lie,
for I am a rebel and that's nothing mean
and I'd lay down my life for white orange and green".
And the young English soldier turned white as the snow
got on his machine and away he did go
for there's no use in fighting a girl of sixteen
who would die for a banner, white orange and green.
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6. |
The Last Rose of Summer
03:04
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Ever since I was little, I've gravitated toward melancholy songs. This is a classic example. I was humming or whistling it recently, and a friend asked incredulously, "Why are you singing such a sad song?!"
It was written by the Irish poet Thomas Moore in 1805, probably inspired by an "Old Blush" rose bush he saw in County Kilkenny. Sir John Stevenson set the poem to a traditional tune known as, "The Young Man's Dream", "The Groves of Blarney", or "Aislean an Oigfear".
Of course I haven't experienced the loneliness of old age, so the feelings of loss and acquiescence this song evokes are a testament to Moore's genius.
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'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
And give sigh for sigh.
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter,
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie withered,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
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7. |
Mo Bhuachaillín Donn
03:33
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I first heard this as a young teen on the "Celtic Aire" album by Dordán. And as usual, I memorized it, often singing it as a kind of hymn.
“Mo Bhuachaillín Donn” means “my brown-haired lad”.
"Céad Míle Fáilte” is a common Irish greeting meaning, “a thousand welcomes“.
"A Chuisle Mo Chroí“ is an endearment meaning, “pulse of my heart”.
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Mo Bhuachaillín Donn
My true love he dwells on the mountain
Like a war eagle fearless and free
By the side of a low tuning fountain
That swings down through the wild Annalae
His soul has more beauty and honour
Than a king with a palace and crown
For the blood of the race of O’Connor
Fills the veins of 'Mo Bhuachaillín Donn’
Soft ‘Céad Míle Fáilte’ I give him
When he comes every Sunday to me
And sure what can I do but believe him
When he whispers, ‘A Chuisle Mo Chroí’
For his look is so truthful and so tender
From his soft roving eyes of dark brown
I’m sure that any lady in splendour
Could be coaxed by 'Mo Bhuachaillín Donn’
My father has riches in plenty
And suitors for me in his eye
Ah but oh let my age come to twenty
And it’s then I’ll bid them all a good-bye
For I long for a home in the mountain
Far away from the dust of the town
By the side of a low tuning fountain
In the arms of 'Mo Bhuachaillín Donn’
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Turlough O'Carolan is one of Ireland's best loved composers. Blinded by smallpox as a teenager, he took harp lessons from Mrs. MacDermott Roe, becoming so proficient on the instrument and writing such beautiful tunes of his his own that he became an itinerant musician and composer, composing hundreds of tunes in his lifetime (1670-1738).
This haunting tune is said to have been his last, played for his friend and mentor Mrs. MacDermott Roe, by then an old woman, a few days before he died.
Though this tune was made for the Celtic harp, I've arranged it for voice.
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One of my go-to prayer songs.
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I bind unto myself today
the strong Name of the Trinity,
by invocation of the same,
the Three in One, and One in Three.
I bind this day to me for ever,
by power of faith, Christ's Incarnation;
his baptism in Jordan river;
his death on cross for my salvation;
his bursting from the spicèd tomb;
his riding up the heavenly way;
his coming at the day of doom:
I bind unto myself today.
I bind unto myself the power
of the great love of cherubim;
the sweet "Well done" in judgment hour;
the service of the seraphim;
confessors' faith, apostles' word,
the patriarchs' prayers, the prophets' scrolls;
all good deeds done unto the Lord,
and purity of virgin souls.
I bind unto myself today
the virtues of the starlit heaven
the glorious sun's life-giving ray,
the whiteness of the moon at even,
the flashing of the lightning free,
the whirling wind's tempestuous shocks,
the stable earth, the deep salt sea,
around the old eternal rocks.
I bind unto myself today
the power of God to hold and lead,
his eye to watch, his might to stay,
his ear to hearken, to my need;
the wisdom of my God to teach,
his hand to guide, his shield to ward;
the word of God to give me speech,
his heavenly host to be my guard.
Christ be with me,
Christ within me,
Christ behind me,
Christ before me,
Christ beside me,
Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort
and restore me.
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ in quiet,
Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of
all that love me,
Christ in mouth of
friend and stranger.
I bind unto myself today
the strong Name of the Trinity,
by invocation of the same,
the Three in One, and One in Three.
Of whom all nature hath creation,
eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
praise to the Lord of my salvation,
salvation is of Christ the Lord.
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