le Turlough O'Carolan
A h- uiscí chroidhe na n-anamann,
Leagan tú ar lár mé
Bim gan chéill, gan aithne,
'Sé an t-eachrann do b'fhearr liom!
by John D'Alton|
Why, liquor of life, do I love you so,
When in all our encounters you lay me low?
More stupid and senseless I everyday grow,
What a hint - if I'd mend by the marning.
Bionn mo chóta stracaighthe,
Agus caillim leat mo charabhat,
Is bíodh a ndárnais maithte leat,
Ach teangmhaigh liom amárach!
Tattered and torn you've left my coat,|
I've not a cravat- to save my throat,
Yet I pardon you all, my sparkling doat,
If you'll cheer me again in the morning.
This poem, charactarized by Hyde as one of the finest Bachalarian
tunes in any language, appears with that comment in O'Sullivan's book
2 pg 118 No 197. The English metrical translation is by John D'Alton.
Lyrics: Carolan, Life and Times of an Irish Harper by Donal O'Sullivan
1958, vol 2 pg 118 no 197.
(6 stanzas) of which only 2 are printed here.