Ceol A’Phíobaire

Music of the Piper
Home > Artists > Altan | Submitted by DerekP
This is a traditional Irish song arranged by Frankie Kennedy, Mairéad Ní Mhaonaigh, Mark Kelly and Ciarán Curran. It more...

This is a traditional Irish song arranged by Frankie Kennedy, Mairéad Ní Mhaonaigh, Mark Kelly and Ciarán Curran. It appears on the album Altan, the second studio album by Frankie Kennedy and Mairéad Ní Mhaonaigh, originally released in 1987.

Submitted notes by Felipa:

Brían Ó Domhnaill included this song in a workshop this weekend. He said “céad luig laig” refers to the sound of the loom, the shuttle going back and forth hundreds of times (nothing to do with lág, week); you’d be fed up with husband’s work. and that “Beidh sop i mbéal an dorais, mar bheadh madadh ar charnán aoiligh,” refers to the tailor working while he sits by the door (for light) cross-legged on a cushion of hay (a “sop”), like a dog sitting on a (warm) midden heap.

“Ag síordhó na gcoinneal is ag creimneáil na bpíosaí” = forever burning candles (up late all night) and sewing together the pieces. The first verse refers to working with flax (ingredient of linen, lín) A hackle is a comb for dressing the flax.

The same three verses are published in Mánus Ó Baoill, Ceolta Uladh 2 Cork: Mercier, 1986. The jaunty air given in that book is different from the tune Máiread Ní Mhaonaigh and Brían Ó Domhnaill use; it is the same one that Albert Fry sang on his eponymous Gael-Linn album (on which Máiread played fiddle and Frankie Kennedy flute).

Énrí Ó Muir(gh)easa didn’t give a tune, but he published an additional verse in Céad de Cheolta Uladh,in 1915 – new edition edited by Brother T. F. Beausang published in Newry in 1983. This final verse says that if you marry the worker, you’ll market at the fairs, but even though you’ll have silver in your pockets and you won’t have to stay up to midnight, you’ll still mourn and you’d still be better of with the piper and his sweet music.

Má phósann tú an t-oibrí is tú a bheas ag caoineadh,
A mhuirnín dílis ‘s a fhaoileann óg
Is gheobhaidh tú marcaíocht chun na n-aontaí
A mhuinín dílis ‘s a fhaoileann óg;
Cha bhíonn tú do shuí go mbeidh sé an mean oíche,
Beidh airgead i do phocaí ‘us ór buí ‘na phíosaí,
Ach ba mhíle b’fhearr duit mise agat is ceol binn mo phíbe,
A mhuirnín dílis ‘s a fhaoileann óg.

According to the notes “This is a Farney song taken down by Mr J H Lloyd (and published by him in the ‘Cláirseach na nGael, II) from the recitation of Thomas Corrigan, the last great seanchaí of Farney. It is the plea of a poper to a young girl that she would be a thousand times happier with him and having the sweet music of his pipes, than be he wife of any ordinary tradesman. Mr Lloyd’s re-arrangement of a couple of lines has been preserved.”

Ó Muirgheasa’s glossary of “Focail Chrua” (difficult words) would be a great help to anyone trying to translate the song into English. For instance:
do do thachtadh”, being choked. “Barrach na tire”, the tow of the countryside; the hackler lived in a thick atmosphere of dust.
“ag sciobadh an lín dó” ‘skibbing’ the flax for him, i.e. tidying the bundles of hackeled flax.
“luig laig”, the loose working of machinery that is not properly adjusted and works with a rattle
“úim”, the gears or weaver’s traces in the loom
“ineadh” = aoine* fasting; hence, a shortage, scarcity, deficiency

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Irish

English

If you marry the hackler,
It's you who will be crying,
My own true love, My fair maiden,
Oh you will suffocate
With the roots of the earth,
My own true love, My fair maiden,
Oh you will sit until
It is the middle of the night,
Rummaging for a candle
And grabbing the spade,
You'd much prefer to have me
And the sweet music of my pipes,
My own true love, my fair maiden.

If you marry the weaver,
It's you who will be crying,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
You'll soon be weak
And lost from the working of the loom,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
Oh you will sit until
It is the middle of the night,
Rummaging for a candle
And moaning from the poverty,
You'd much prefer to have me
And the sweet music of my pipes,
My own true love, my fair maiden.

If you marry the tailor,
It's you who will be crying,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
There'll be wisps of straw piled at the door,
Like a dog would drop his dung,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
Oh you will sit until
It is the middle of the night,
Rummaging for a candle
And gnawing bits of cloth,
You'd much prefer to have me
And the sweet music of my pipes,
My own true love, my fair maiden.

Can you provide a better translation?

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