Fáth Mo Bhuartha ('Sé)

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FÁTH MO BHUARTHA ('SÉ) (The Cause for My Sorrow). Irish, Air (4/4 time). G Major/Mixolydian. Standard tuning (fiddle). One part. Below the Irish is an English translation by Listowel (north Kerry) writer Bryan McMahon ( from Cúm: An Anthology of New Writing from Kerry, edited by Moya Cannon):

Amhrán Ghrádha
Sé fáth mo bhuardhartha nach bhfaghaim faill uaire ort
San gleanntán uaigneach ag a mbíonn mo ghrádh;
Mar bhfuighinn mil ar luachair ann, im agus uachtar
Teacht don fhuacht bíonn na crainn faoi bhláth.
Ní bhíon gaoth adtuaidh ann ná sneachta buan ann,
Tá caladh is cuan ann ag luing is ag bád,
Tá tuilleadh buaidh ann, níl turas cruaiche ann,
Dá dtéigtheá síos le do chailín mná.

Ní ar shliabh nó ar chíbleach atá mo mhian-ra,
Acht ar thaltaibh míne, mar a mbíonn meas is bláth;
Bíonn an chuach ag glaodhach ann ar bharra craobh ann,
Tá cruithneach mhaol ann, agus coirce bán;
Bíonn an t-uan 's an laogh ann, 'is na bric 'n-a scaoith ann,
Tá an eala is aoibhne ar an loch ag snámh;
Tá an bheach chómh críonna 's go bhfuil a hárus líonta,
Agus mil dá taomadh ag mo mhuirnín bán.

Is aoibhinn Corr Shliabh I dtús an gheimhridh,
Ní bhíonn leac oidhre air, ná sneachta a dtuaidh;
'Is ceolmhar traon ann, an chuach, 's a' londubh,
Mbarraidh coillte ins an duilleabhar ruadh.
Is binn guth gadhar ann ag tórnuidheacht eilite,
Is an fiadh 'san am sin ag dul ar siubhal,
'S gur leat a chíntear in gach sruth glan aibhne
Go mbíonn an bradán finn-gheal 's an breac ar lúth.

Déanfainn m'éagnach leat-sa, a chéad ghrádh,
Dá mearfainn féin go mbéadh maith dhamh ann,
Mar is tú do réab mo chroídhe ó chéile,
Agus d'fhág na néalta-sa thríd mo cheann.
A mhaighdean bhéasach na malaí chaola,
'S na gcurcán ghlégeal atá fáinneach fionnm
Triall dom' fhéachaint agus mé I n-éagcruas,
'S beidh beannacht Dé dhuit go bráth dá chionn.

'TIS MY BITTER SORROW ('Sé Fáth Mo Bhuartha: Traditional)
'Tis my bitter sorrow that by tomorrow
I go not out to my true love's bower
Where the stream that's running spills purest honey
And in wintertime see, the branch in flower.
No frost, no snowing; no red wind blowing
By the bright abode of my secret queen
But her body moving with the salmon's beauty
And her hair ashine like the barley green.

Oh may God be praised for young women's laughter
Tho' it scald the heart of one grey and cold
And may God be praised for the bitter rapture
That takes my body as in days of old
For Satan has me as a black companion
When I cast my thoughts on what might have been
On her body moving with the salmon's beauty
And her hair ashine like the barley green.

Source for notated version:

Printed sources: Ó Canainn (Traditional Slow Airs), 1995; p. 11.

Recorded sources: Seamus Creagh & Aidan Coffey. FG 9701, Randal Bays – “Out of the Woods.”




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