| GÁIR BHÁINNSI SAN TIGH ... | LAUGHTER ACROSS THE WAY ... |
| Irish trad. | tr. Trevor Joyce |
Gáir bháinnsi san tigh si amuigh, gi bé dā ttabhair meanmuin, atā neach dā ttabhair brón, acc ēisdeacht ris gach roghlór. Gi[dh] maith risin mnáoi si amuigh amhuil mur snadhmar a cuir, maircc dā ttabhair an bith bréicc – fúair misi seal a leithéid. Do dhlighis achmusán úaim, a Ardruire an bheatha bhúain; créud far m[h]arbhuis mac Aodha? óir nirb anflaith anaobhdha. Gidh a ccimedhacht do bheith, robadh cimidh óir is each, is dā bfuasccláoidís dáoine, robadh dúais do chionn choáaoine. Mōr a chomáoin oram féain, cóir do fuaisccéoluinn ō Néill: do-rad da fichiod déag bó damhsa d’áoinchreich a n-áonló. A c[h]oilcidh sa a ccodladh Niall, cco a tticdís fir Oirghiall, galar leam do bheith a bhán, a leaba gan do leannán. A !éine as leascc leam húaim tar éis mo d[h]eaighfir d[h]iombúain, `san té darbá maisi mas do bheith marbh a cCenanndas. Comhrādh do chan riomsa Niall acc dul ó Ard Macha síar: gi bé uainn do rachadh ar tús, a G[h]ormlaith, caithe a iomtús? Do-bhearuinn chomhairle chain duit a rīgh Chinél n-Eoghain, ar mbreth go húir Oiligh fúair `sar n-adhnacal a n-áonúaigh. Damadh tusa, a Ghormlaith g[h]lan, do rachadh ar tús a ttalamh, ni fear do-bhéaradh mnáoi mē acht bheith ag cáoi gan gháire. ..................................... Gair. | Laughter across the way marks out the marriage-house; such loud excess intrudes a desolation here. Though happily that bride may get what she contracted for some are short-changed as I hereby lay charge. You, ruler of the lasting world, I now denounce, for killing of my kind, my gentle loving and most innocent king. As hostage he’d be worth thoroughbred herds, goldhoards; who brought him here would learn my further kindnesses. Proper to ransom such a man could to me show him so kind delivering me from a one-day’s raid some twelve score head of beef. Delicate linens, ah! you break my heart, you, where Niall could sleep sound, and you, white one, little bed, you miss him too. How then should I bear myself happening upon a shirt when he it dressed lies dead in Kells? Travelling westward from Armagh Niall put me this: whichever goes in front, my love, where should we head? Straight answer, this, my king, together in the cool clay of Ailech, let them lay us in a single grave. If you, my love, go first, in front of me into the earth, I’ll take myself no other queen but long grieving without ........................ laughter. |
Trans. copyright © Trevor Joyce 2008 - publ. Shearsman Books
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