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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!
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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. |
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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.
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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.
