The Chieftains - Mo Ghile Mear (our Hero) lyrics

By seán clárach mac domhnaill Seal da rabhas I'm' mhaighdean shéimh, 's anois I'm' bhaintreach chaite thréith, Mo chéile ag treabhadh na dtonn go tréan De bharr na gcnoc is I n-imigcéin. 'sé mo laoch, mo ghile mear, 'sé mo chaesar, ghile mear, Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas féin Ó chuaigh I gcéin mo ghile mear. Bímse buan are buaidhirt gach ló, Ag caoi go cruaidh 's ag tuar na ndeór Mar scaoileadh uaim an buachaill beó 's ná ríomhtar tuairisc uaidh, mo bhrón. Ní labhrann cuach go suairc are nóin Is níl guth gadhair I gcoillte cnó, Ná maidin shamhraidh I gcleanntaibh ceoigh Ó d'imthigh uaim an buachaill beó. meaning byheatheromeara Translations from Irish to English: Chorus = He is my hero, my dashing darling He is my Caesar, dashing darling. I've had no rest from forebodings Since he… See all Marcach uasal uaibhreach óg, Gas gan gruaim is suairce snódh, Glac is luaimneach, luath I ngleo Ag teascadh an tslua 's ag tuargain treon. Seinntear stair are chlairsigh cheoil 's líontair táinte cárt are bord Le hinntinn ard gan chaim, gan cheó Chun saoghal is sláinte d' fhagháil dom leómhan. Ghile mear 'sa seal faoi chumha, 's eire go léir faoi chlócaibh dubha; Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas féin Ó luaidh I gcéin mo ghile mear. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A literal translation by j. mark sugars 1997 Once I was a gentle maiden, But now I am a spent, worn-out widow, My consort strongly plowing the waves Over the hills and far away. He is my hero, my gallant darling, He is my caesar, a gallant darling; I've found neither rest nor fortune Since my gallant darling went far away. Every day I am constantly enduring grief, Weeping nitterly and shedding tears, Because my lively lad has left me And no news is told of him - alas! The cuckoo does not sing cheerfully at noon And the sound of hounds is not heard in nut-tree woods Nor summer morning in misty glen Since my lively boy went away from me. Noble, proud young horseman, Youth without gloom, of pleasant countenance, A swift-moving fist, nimble in a fight, Slaying the enemy and smiting the strong. Let a strain be played on musical harps, And let many quarts be filled on the table, With high spirit, without fault, without gloom, That my lion may receive long life and health. Gallant darling for a while under sorrow, And ireland completely under black cloacks, I have found neither rest nor fortune Since my gallant darling went far away