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Various - Òran Bagraidh
04:25
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Aobh cumar an eas dom,
Aobh Bealach na Slogh,
Aobh bruthaichean Beinn Beithich,
Aobh an gleann’s an robh tu og.
Trom dom maduinn an aon-la,
Trom dom maduinn a’chro,
Ni ro eirig air an eislig
Caisteal caiseal a’chro.
Nar ro geis anns a’chro,
Nir bu geis anns a’chro,
Far tu deanma bi mid diamain,
Lagaidh ceudan diogailt linn.
Buille beada gom borr,
Goille grad beart doid,
Com gun choluin sliochd na feannaig,
Diogailt rindearg baradag sliom.
Riam righfinnid air an Fianta,
Ro-sar rath an rightech tu,
Riam ruighean rath na righinn,
Rogaid roighean tu ar righ,
Saindsearc sighi sorcha seiti,
Caimbeart cruthach calma ceannt,
Supach suanach solma socrach,
Ceudnach clota cleusta clit.
Toinnti muinntir na dubhchos,
Inn san draoinich’s ruigh raoin,
Sloinnti cinneil sliochd a’mhaduidh,
Cingdi cairpeach diaman saoidh.
Bhite breacach Loch a’Barr,
Bhite fiadhach Carrsa Fearn,
Bhite brocach Gleann na Seamraig,
Bhite fleaghtach an Dail Righ.
Do bhi treilis donna dosrach
Air an ruaghagh’s an do dail,
Greaghan congail tochadh sgola
Seirbhti sin an deireadh gnas.
Tarpa sluagh na gruaigi ciar,
Na cneas deathar cairti glas
Dosguin ciripti teasmailt brianta
Sosguin foirprig teanmaidh bragh.
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Ffeind a difyr ydyw gweled
(Migldi magldi, hei now now)
Drws yr efail yn agored
(migldi magldi, hei now now)
A'r go’ bach a'i wyneb purddu
(Migldi Magldi, hei now now)
Yn yr efail yn prysur chwythu
(Migldi magldi, hei now now).
Ffeind a difyr yn yr Alban
(Migldi magldi, hei now now)
Mai Trercarcow ’di Balmaclellan
(migldi magldi, hei now now)
Rhown i hen eiriau alaw newydd
(Migldi Magldi, hei now now)
ac i hen dôn mi rown adenydd
(Migldi magldi, hei now now).
Gairm féin gairm féin gairm féin
Gairm féin Micil is Máire
Gairm féin gairm féin gairm féin
Sin iad na ceannabháin bhána
Cuirfidh mé cuirfidh mé cuirfidh mé
Cuirfidh mé suas ag Sadhbh Sheáin thú
Cuirfidh mé cuirfidh mé cuirfidh mé
Is cuirfidh sí buairthín sa ngleann ort
Baile mo chrìdh’ ‘s i teannaicht’ ach grinn
Baile mo chrìdh’ bho madainn gu oidhche
Baile mo chrìdh’, ‘s i teannaich ach grinn
A’ dol do dhùthaich eile
Hòrò am baile mòr is hòrò mo chàirdean
Hòrò am baile far an d’rugadh mi nam phàist’. (x2)
B' fheàrr mar a bha mi 'n-uiridh
Na mar tha mi 'm-bliadhna
B' fheàrr mar a bha mi 'n-uiridh
Fir a'tighinn gam iarraidh
B' fheàrr mar a bha mi 'n-uiridh
Na mar tha mi 'm-bliadhna
B' fheàrr mar a bha mi 'n-uiridh
Fir a' tighinn gam iarraidh
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Pais Dinogad, y fraith fraith;
O grwyn balaod ban wraith.
Chwîd, chwîd, chwidogaith.
Gochanwn, gochenyn’ wythgaith.
Pan elai dy dad di i helia,
Llath ar ei ysgwydd, llory yn ei law,
Ef gelwi gŵn gogyhwg:
‘Giff! Gaff! Daly, daly! Dwg, dwg!’
Ef lladdai bysg yng nghorwg
Mal ban lladd llew llywiwg.
Pan elai dy dad di i fynydd,
Dyddygai ef ben iwrch, pen gwythwch, pen hydd,
Pen grugiar fraith o fynydd,
Pen pysg o Raeadr Derwennydd.
O’r sawl a gyrhaeddai dy dad di â’i gigwain
O wythwch a llewyrn a llwynain
Nid angai oll ni fai oradain!
English translation
Dinogad’s smock, the speckled, speckled one;
I made it out of the pelts of pine-martens.
Whistle, whistle, whistle.
We’ll sing and the eight servants will sing…
When your daddy went a-hunting,
a spear on his shoulder, a cudgel in his hand,
he would call his dogs:
‘Giff! Gaff! Catch, catch! Fetch, fetch!’
He’d strike a fish in his coracle
as a lion strikes a ‘llywiwg’.
When your daddy went to the mountain
he’d bring back a roebuck, a wild boar, a stag,
a speckled grouse from the mountain,
a fish from the Waterfall of Derwennydd.
Of everything your daddy reached with his lance,
wild boar and fox and creature of the wood,
none escaped unless it had wings!
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Uryen Yrech6ydd. Urien of Erechwydd,
haelaf dyn bedyd, most generous man in the world,
llia6s a rodyd, you give much,
y dynyon eluyd. to the people of the civilised world.
Mal y kynnullud, As you gather,
yt wesceryd. so do you scatter.
Llawen beird bedyd Joyful are the poets of the world
tra vo dy uuchyd, as long as you are alive,
ys m6y llewenyd, greater is the joy
gan clotuan clotryd, in the company of the famous hero,
ys m6y gogonyant, greater is the glory
vot Uryen ae plant. That Urien and his sons are alive.
Ac ef yn arbennic, And he is the leader,
yn oruchel wledic the exalted ruler,
yn dinas pellenic, a refuge for the traveller,
yn keimyat kynteic, a champion of the first rank,
Lloegr6ys ae g6ydant, as the English know
pan ymadrodant. when they chatter.
Agheu a ga6ssant, They got death,
a mynych godyant, and felt frequent wrath,
llosci eu trefret, burning their settlements,
a d6yn eu tudet, and taking their shelter,
ac eim6nc collet, losing much,
a ma6r aghyffret, and feeling much discomfort,
heb gaffel g6aret with no chance of salvation
rac Vryen Reget. before Urien of Rheged.
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Beannacht siar uaim go hÉirinn,
críoch mín sleachta saoir-Fhéilim:
buime ar n-oileamhna is í soin,
ní doidhealbha í ar fhéchoin.
Cúrfa
Ì hòro is na hòro eile, bhuam as Albain dhut a mh’ eudaill
Í hóro beir mo beannacht siar, siar go tír na hÉireann.
Siar ó Albain na n-eas mbinn
beannacht uaimse go hÉirinn:
críoch bhreicmhín as mhín moighe,
seintír mar thír tarngoire.
Beannacht go baile Phádruig,
Ard Mhacha am mhúir mhíonfhádbhuig,
‘sgo ríoghDhoire na sreabh seang,
Treabh as líonmhaire léigheann.
Le díoghrais go Dún na nGall
Beannacht uaim arís anall:
Sí shaoilim do fhóir mh’aicme,
Róimh aoibhinn ar n-adhlaicne.
English translation
A blessing westward from me to Ireland,
smooth land of the progeny of noble Féilim:
she is the mother who nursed us;
she is not uncomely to look upon.
Chorus
Ì hòro is na hòro eile, from Scotland to you, my dear
Í hóro convey my blessing over, over to the country of Ireland.
Westward from Scotland of the melodious waterfalls,
a blessing from me to Ireland,
smooth varied region with smooth plains,
an ancient land like to the Land of Promise.
A blessing to Patrick’s city,
Armagh of the wall smooth and soft-sodded,
and to royal Derry of the slender streams,
a home where learning is most plentiful.
To Donegal with sincerity
I send a blessing or two again;
pleasant sanctuary of our burial,
he methinks it is that has helped my kindred.
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Och, a Erin, ó thréig tú do ghrá
Go héag ó chuaigh tú le Guaire
Do leannán sí, mo náire shaolta,
Is ó chuaigh do chroí i bhfuaire,
Rachaidh mé faoin gcoill nó sa má
Mar nach bhfuil agam cuideachta ná gaolta.
Is trua liom thú a gheilt ghairbh
Ar an gconair ó thuaidh,
Lá suas go go hÉadan Tairbh,
Lá go meán Shliabh Fuaidh
Ailiú éanaí ailiú éaraí
Hoch teidí di éró
Parúsam praedidilí
Is mo lil na ló a ba bó
I mbun seilge is fia
Nó id leaba le do leannán
Tú a bheith gan leann gan bhia
Gan éadach gan bhróg mar dhán
English translation
Och, Erin McQueen, since you fadeabandoned your love fornumbdeathever since you went off with your balefulchronicsicklywhirlwindphantomlover and changed your name, to my greatworldy private-parts-shame, and since your heart has gone cold, I’ll go off aboutunder the castrationdesecrationwoods as an outlaw or in the Mazeplain for that’s where I have neither funcompanionship nor likerelations.
My pity on you vulgar madman
On the northern ridge
A day up to Éadan Tarbh
Another to the top of Sliabh Fuaidh
Come down birdy; mad birdy
Hoch teidí di éró
Parúsam praedidilí
Is mo lil na ló a ba bó
Me hunting and tracking (your lands)
Or in your bed with your wife
You with neither ale or food
Without cloth, without shoes, for a song
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Sabhal Iain ‘ic Ùisdein
Iùraibh à, horaibh à
B' aighearach an-uiridh mi
Iùraibh à, horaibh à
Sabhal Iain 'ic Ùisdein
Iùraibh à, horaibh à
B' aighearach an-uiridh mi
Iùraibh à, horaibh à
Sabhal Iain 'ic Ùisdein
Pòg a Chalum an Rubha
Pòg dhan a h-uile fear
Pòg a Chalum an Rubha
'S a dh'fhear Rubha an Dùnain
Pòg a Chalum an Rubha
Pòg dhan a h-uile fear
Pòg a Chalum an Rubha
'S a dh'fhear Rubha an Dùnain
In John MacEwan’s Barn
Iùraibh à, horaibh à
Joyful was I last year
Iùraibh à, horaibh à
In John MacEwan's barn
Iùraibh à, horaibh à
Joyful was I last year
Iùraibh à, horaibh à
In John MacEwan's barn
A kiss for Calum from the headland
A kiss for every man
A kiss for Calum from the headland
And for the man from Doune Point
A kiss for Calum from the headland
A kiss for every man
A kiss for Calum from the headland
And for the man from Doune Point
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A ninth-century cross at Ardchattan Priory, Argyll, shows three hooded monks playing a harp, a triplepipe, and possibly a long wooden horn. Harps and horns can be reproduced from instruments in museums, but no ancient triplepipes survive. To reintroduce this medieval predecessor of the Highland bagpipe, Barnaby lived in Sardinia for six years immersing himself in the launeddas tradition.
In this composition, he fuses the rhythmic structure of a Sardinian ballu seriu with the harmonic language shared by Highland pibroch and medieval Welsh harp music. The idea of clapping – warding off evil spirits, or tasting divine bliss through ecstatic movement and polyphony – comes from two sources: the agwara dance of the Alur people, Uganda; and the eighth-century Vespasian Psalter miniature that shows King David with musicians and two boys clapping.
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“O wha will lace my shoes sae sma', and wha will glove my hand?
And wha will lace my middle sae jimp wi' my new-made linen band?
And wha will kaim my yellow hair wi' my new-made siller kaim?
And wha will faither my young son till Lord Gregory come hame?
“Sae I will ger a bonnie bonnie boat and I will sail the sea,
And I will gang to Lord Gregory since he cannae come hame to me.
O row, O row, ye mariners and bring me to dry land,
For yonder I see my love's castle close by the sault sea strand.
“O open the door, Lord Gregory, O open and let me in,
For the wind blows through my yellow hair and I'm shivering tae the chin.”
“Awa, awa ye wild woman, some ill death may ye dee,
Ah ye're either a witch or a wild warlock or a mermaid o the sea.”
“I'm neither a witch nor a wild warlock nor a mermaid o the sea,
But I am fair Annie of Roch Royal, O open the door to me.”
“Awa, awa ye wild woman, for here ye sanna win in,
Gae droon ye in the saut, saut sea or hang on the gallow's pin!”
When the cock did craw and the day did daw and the sun began to peep,
Then up did rise Lord Gregory and sair, sair did he weep.
“I dreamed a dream, my mother dear, the thocht o it gars me greet,
I dreamed fair Annie o Roch Royal lay cauld deid at my feet.”
“Git it be Annie o Roch Royal that gars ye mak' a this din,
She stood a' nicht at our ha' door but I didna let her in.”
“Awa, awa ye cruel mother, some ill death may ye dee,
That ye wadna let poor Annie in or else hae wauken me.”
Sae he's gane doon tae yon sea shore as fast as he could fare,
And he saw fair Annie in her boat and the wind it tossed her sair.
The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough, and the boat was dashed on shore,
Fair Annie she floated on the wave but her young son rose no more.”
Lord Gregory tore his yellow hair and he made his heavy moan,
Fair Annie lay cauld deid at his feet and his bonnie young son was gone.
“O wae betide, cruel mother, some ill death may ye dee,
That ye wadna let poor Annie in when she cam sae far tae me.”
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Heavy on me, this one day of morning.
Heavy on me, this morning of blood.
Your brown hair ringlets,
your brown hair burning,
your brown hair ringlets cold in my blood.
Breath on your shroud, now shrinking and fading.
Birth of your youth, filling with snow.
Pass of the hosts, the waterfalls burning,
in the light of your dead eye
I see my love fill.
Where you decay, in the crypt of your grave,
your face worn away by softening soil,
I will carry your morning of blood
I will carry your morning of blood
I will carry your morning of blood
I will carry your morning, my love.
Beiridh mi do mhadainn mo ghraidh
Beiridh mi do mhadainn mo ghraidh
Beiridh mi do mhadainn mo ghraidh
Beiridh mi do mhadainn mo ghraidh
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Is ansin, tanic Plait,
a cath na lureach amach, ocus abert fo trí,
“faras Domhnall” “faras Domhnall” “faras Domhnall”
Ro chomhreicsetar iaramh, ocus ro gabh cach dib ac airleach
ocus athchuma a cheile a ccédoir.
Cidh tra acht itrocratar comtuitim re chéile,
ocus isamhlaid ro frith iad ar na mhárach ocus folt cechtair de i ndorn araile,
ocus a cclaidhme tre chroidhibh a chéile.
Ocus ro siacht cach ilocan a cele dib
ocus ro turmed blod beim bailc,
bodba, barbarda, don cathi cend araele.
In tan nach tibred duni don da cath,
achni ar celi cidé a mac no a brathair
Ro cenglait ocus ro cuibrigit
a ngae os a cennaibh da foltaib faidib,
arna tescod
do claidmib colgdirgib, ocus do tuagaib,
taidleachaib.
Ro eirig ém, badb; díscir, dian, denmnetach,
dásachtach, dúr, duabrech,
detcengtach, cruaid, croda, cosaitech, co barr oc screchaid
ar luamain os a cennaib.
Ro eirgetar am bananaig, ocus boccanaig, ocus geliti glinni, ocus amati adgaill, ocus siabra, ocus seneoin
English translation
Plait came forth from the battalion of the men in armour and said three times
“Faras Domhnall” “Faras Domhnall” “Faras Domhnall”
"They fought then, and attacked each other, and endeavoured each to slaughter
and mangle the other.
And they fell slain by each other,
and they were found in the morning thus — the hair of each in the fist of the other,
and the sword of each through the heart of the other."
And each of them has come within the grasp of the other
and the battalions made a furious, barbarous, smashing onset on each other
Not one person of the two hosts could recognise another, though it might be his son or his brother. Our spears over our heads had become clogged and bound with long locks of hair, when cut away by well-aimed swords, and gleaming axes.
And there arose a wild, impetuous, precipitate, furious, dark, frightful, voracious, merciless, combative, contentious, vulture, screaming and fluttering over their heads.
And there arose also the satyrs, and the idiots, and the maniacs of the valleys, and the witches, and the goblins, and the ancient birds
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Reget diffreidyat, The defender of Rheged,
clot ior agor g6lat, the lord of fame, anchor of the land,
vy mod yssyd arnat. my contentment is in your hands.
O pob erclywat, By all accounts,
d6ys dy peleitrat, your spear-blow is deep,
pan erclywat kat. When battle is heard.
Kat pan y kyrchy(n)t, When you go to battle,
g6nyeith a wneit. You wreak vengeance.
Tan yn tei kyn dyd, The houses are ablaze before dawn
rac vd Yrech6yd. before the lord of Erechwydd.
Yrech6yd teccaf, Erechwydd is the fairest land,
ae dynyon haelhaf. And its people the most generous.
Gna6t Eigyl heb waessaf As usual the Angles are helpless
am teyrn gle6haf. In the presence of the bravest ruler.
Gle6haf eissyllyd, Bravest of lineage,
tydi goreu yssyd, you are the best there is,
or a uu ac a uyd. of all that have been and all that will be.
Nyth oes kystedlyd. You have no competition.
Pan dremher arna6, When one looks at you,
ys ehelaeth y bra6. the terror is great.
Gna6t g6yled ymdana6, There is always humility in his presence,
am teyrn gocna6. in the presence of the forceful ruler.
Amdana6 g6yled, There is humility in his presence,
a llia6s maranhed, and great treasure,
eurteyrn gogled, the golden ruler of the North,
arbenhic teyrned. the foremost of rulers.
Welsh edition and English translation courtesy of Dr Graham Isaac.
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These small pieces were written during the residency at Barscobe House. They are extracts from a sequence of haiku-like tercets, all relating to the immediate locality and with a placename reference of Gaelic provenance in each piece, many mentioned in the song Òran Bagraidh.
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