1. |
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Chagarain gaoil, ho rao leó,
Hao leoiro ho rao leó.
‘S fhada bh’uam a chi mi’n ceo,
Cha ‘n‘eil deo an caol no’n cuan.
Chagarain gaoil, ho rao leó,
Hao leoiro ho rao leó.
Uvil, uvil!*
Nach truagh leat mi,
Bhean ud thall an cois na tràghad?
‘S i bhean iadaich,
Haori horó,
Rinn mo thàladh,
Hùg ó,
‘Sa dh’fhàg mise,
Haori horó,
An so ‘gam bhàthadh,
Hùg ó,
‘S fuar mo leaba,
Hùg ó,
Fuar-fhliuch sleamhain,
Hùg ó,
Fliuch le m’ dheuraibh,
Haori horó,
‘Sfliuch le sàile.
Hùg ó.
Beannachd màthar,
Beannachd dhìlinn,
Beannachd Iosa
Air mo phaisdean.
Mo leanabh beag,
Gaol mo mhànrain,
Iarraidh tu nochd
Cioch do mhàthar,
Ach ma dh’iarras ’s diomhain dà sin,
Gu’m bi iad luma-lan de’n t’-sàile.
Uvil, uvil!
A ballad to my love, ho rao leó,
Singing ho rao leó.
Long ago and far away, your smoky guile
No longer conceals ghost nor ocean.
A ballad to my love, ho rao leó,
Singing ho rao leó.
Uvil, uvil!
Do you not care for me at all,
Woman yonder, along the beach?
She is a jealous woman,
Haori horó,
She lured me here,
Hùg ó,
And left me,
Haori horó,
Here to drown,
Hùg ó,
Cold my bed,
Hùg ó,
Cold, wet, and slippery,
Hùg ó,
Wet with my weeping,
Haori horó,
And wet with seawater.
Hùg ó.
Blessings of a mother,
Blessings of a life cut short,
Blessings of Jesus
Be upon my babies.
My little child,
My lion, my song,
If you ask tonight
For the breasts of your mother,
Ah, your request shall be in vain,
For they will be bursting full of the sea.
Uvil, uvil!
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2. |
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Heiteagan àirin huhuro,
Heiteagan àirin hùo.
A Mhór-thir bhoidheach, gorm do chò-ta,
Fiamh an òir air t’aodainn.
Heiteagan…
Ianach canntaidh thu ‘s a’ Bhealltainn,
Fàile calltainn mhaoth dhiot.
Heiteagan…
Grianach mòdhar thu ‘s an ògmhios,
Fiarach cròthach braonach.
Heiteagan…
Heiteagan àirin huhuro,
Heiteagan àirin hùo.
Pleasing Morar, with your blue coat,
Shades of gold on your face.
Heiteagan…
You are full of birdsong in Beltane,
And fragrant with tender hazel.
Heiteagan…
Sunny, happy are you in June,
Swinging, singing, reaping.
Heiteagan…
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3. |
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Thug Banrigh Lochlainn nan sgiath donn
Trom-ghaol trom, an gaol nach lasaich,
Do Aillte greadhanach nan arm geur
Gu’n d’fhalbh i ann an ceilg leis.
Chruinnich Righ Lochlainn gu grad a shluagh,
Cabhlach cruaidh gu’n tug e leis,
‘Se sin a bha aig anns an uair,
Naoi righrean ‘s an sluagh leo
Mur robh fear a chaidh o fheum
Nno chaidh do’n Gréig a null,
Cha deachaidh fear d’a thir fein
De na thug Righ Lochlainn nall.
The queen of Lochlin of the brown shields
Deep love gave, that all endureth,
To Aillte young, of the keen-edged blades,
And secretly with him fled she.
The King of Lochlin, his hardy hosts
In this hour of need gathered,
And with them came the mighty stalwarts
Of nine kings from the northern shores.
There were that wounded fell,
Or died on the field of battle,
But never one was home returning,
Of all the mighty Lochlin men.
(Trans. Kennedy-Fraser)
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4. |
Seal Woman’s Sea-Joy
01:08
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5. |
The Daughter of Maeve
04:26
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Am béud chuir an Righinn Maibh nan còrn fial
Air Fraoch mac an Fhithich leis an iadach gheur.
Thainig easlainte throm, throm,
Air inghean Odhaich nan còrn fial,
Agus chuir i fios gu Fraoch
‘S dh’ fhidir an laoch ciod e a miann.
Labhair i nach biodh i slàn
Mur faigheadh i làn a bas mhaoth
De chaorann an lochain fhuair
O, ‘s gun a bhi ‘gam buain ach Fraoch.
Ghluais Froach, le ceum ‘aigh
Is chaidh e shnàmh air an loch,
Fhuair e bhéist ‘na sior-throm suain
‘S a ceann a suas ris an dos.
Rug a’ bhéist air anns an tràigh
Ghlac i a làmh ann a craos,
Ghlac an laoch i air a dà ghial —
Is truagh, a Righ! nach maireann Fraoch.
Thainig inghean ùr nan geal làmh,
Ainnir a’ chuailein chais àill.
Ta osna caraid an cluain Fhraoich,
Gul nam mna air Cruachan fuar
An gaol a thug inghean Maibh nan còrn fial
Do Fraoch mac an Fhithich nan arm géur.
The tale of the jealousy of Queen Maeve,
For Fraoch MacFithich, of the sharp blades.
She fell ill, and her sickness lay heavily
Upon the queen of the overflowing horns.
She told Fraoch of her malady;
He asked what he could do for remedy.
She said that she would not heal
Unless her tender hands were full
Of rowan berries from the frozen lake,
Oh, and only if they are plucked by Fraoch.
Fraoch proceeded, struggling step by step,
As he swam through the lake,
Where the beast lay sleeping,
Her head resting among the rowan berries.
The beast caught him on the beach.
She grabbed his hand,
She seized the hero between her two jaws —
And, miserable fate! Too late for Fraoch.
Maeve’s white-handed daughter came,
A fresh maid with golden hair.
The sigh of a friend by the burial cairn,
The woman wept cold tears, by Cruachan.
The tale of the love of the daughter of Maeve,
For Fraoch MacFithich, of the sharp blades.
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6. |
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Thainig mo bhodachan dachaidh.
Thuirt e, fuireachdainn faireachdainn, “Thoir rud.”
Uabh, uabh, uabh, uabhan,
Hì-ri-rì-ri-rì-ri-rì-bhag, hoi-oi,
Horo, bhodachan, Hhoro.
Bhrist e’n guite, Hhoro,
Shrachd e’n criathar, Hhoro.
Uabh, uabh, uabh, uabhan…
Shrachd e’n criathar, Hhoro,
Chagain e bhrath ghlas, Hhoro.
Uabh, uabh, uabh, uabhan…
Sud am bodachan Nach robh
Dia leis.
My old man came home.
He said, blustering and raging, “Meat for me.”
[The Angry Man]: Oof, oof, oof!
[The Scolding Woman]: Hee, hee, hee!
Horo, old man, horo.
He broke everything, horo,
Angry and hungry he was, horo.
Uabh, uabh, uabh, uabhan…
Angry and hungry he was, horo,
He gnashed his teeth, horo.
Uabh, uabh, uabh, uabhan…
An old man such as he is not
With God.
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7. |
The Vision of Deirdre
05:36
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DEIRDRE:
Chunnas na tri calamana, geala,
Leis na tri batagama meala ‘n ‘am beul.
‘S O Naoise, Mhic Uisne,
sorchair thusa dhomh dubhar mo sgeuil.
NAOISE:
Cha ‘n ‘eil ann, ach bruaillean pràmh
is lionndubh mna, Dheirdre mo ghaoil.
DEIRDRE:
Chunnas na tri seabhaga duairc,
Leis na tri braona, fala, fuarfhuil nan treun.
‘S O Naoise, Mhic Uisne,
Ssorchair thusa dhomh dubhar mo sgeuil.
NAOISE:
Cha ‘n ‘eil ann, ach bruaillean pràmh is lionndubh mna, Dheirdre mo ghaoil.
DEIRDRE:
Chunnas na tri fitheacha dubha,
Leis na tri duilleaga dubhach,
Crann iubh ar an éig.
‘S O Naoise, Mhic Uisne, sorchair thusa dhomh dubhar mo sgeuil.
NAOISE:
Cha ‘n ‘eil ann, ach bruaillean pràmh
is lionndubh mna, Dheirdre mo ghaoil.
DEIRDRE:
I saw three white doves,
With three drops of honey in their mouths.
Oh, Naoise, son of Uisne,
illuminate my shadows.
NAOISE:
It is nothing, except confusion and pain, and a woman’s fears, Deirdre, my love.
DEIRDRE:
I saw three dour hawks,
With three drops of cold blood of the brave.
Oh, Naoise, son of Uisne,
illuminate my shadows.
NAOISE:
It is nothing, except confusion and pain, and a woman’s fears, Deirdre, my love.
DEIRDRE:
I saw three black ravens,
With three leaves of the tree of sorrow,
The yew tree of death.
Oh, Naoise, son of Uisne,
illuminate my shadows.
NAOISE:
It is nothing, except confusion and pain, and a woman’s fears, Deirdre, my love.
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8. |
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I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.
I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.
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9. |
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The moon is distant from the sea,
And yet with amber hands
She leads him, docile as a boy,
Along appointed sands.
He never misses a degree;
Obedient to her eye,
He comes just so far toward the town,
Just so far goes away.
Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand,
And mine the distant sea,—
Obedient to the least command
Thine eyes impose on me.
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10. |
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That it will never come again
Is what makes life so sweet.
Believing what we don’t believe
Does not exhilarate.
That if it be, it be at best
An ablative estate—
This instigates an appetite
Precisely opposite.
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11. |
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The grave my little cottage is,
Where, keeping house for thee,
I make my parlor orderly,
And lay the marble tea,
For two divided, briefly,
A cycle, it may be,
Till everlasting life unite
In strong society.
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12. |
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I shall keep singing!
Birds will pass me
On their way to Yellower Climes —
Each — with a Robin’s expectation —
I — with my Redbreast —
And my Rhymes —
Late — when I take my place in summer —
But — I shall bring a fuller tune —
Vespers — are sweeter than Matins — Signor —
Morning — only the seed of Noon —
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13. |
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Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry
Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.
His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.
His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee’s experience
Of clovers and of noon!
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14. |
Kivalina: I. Home
02:18
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This.
This is my home.
This is my home: this ribbon of ice and snow, this glimmer in the endless blue.
Cold and caribou drum.
Singing songs of Sedna.
This.
This is my home.
This is my home.
This is my father’s house.
These steps that led to the sea now disappear.
Now disappear into the sea.
Disappear into the sea.
Disappear.
Disappear.
Disappear.
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15. |
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16. |
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The sea rises.
Rises up.
The sea is just behind the door.
And we are weary.
Weary.
Weary from watching and waiting.
The sea rises.
Rises up.
The sea is lapping at our toes.
The earth is weary.
Weary.
Weary of fighting our battles.
She melts away, releases the swirling blue, and the sea rises.
Rises up.
Beneath, Agloolik waits.
And he is hungry.
Hungry.
Hungry to swallow the world.
This was my home.
This was my home.
This was my home.
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17. |
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Mother, make haste,
hide my hair,
cut me a cloak and kirtle.
Wisest of women,
prepare me as you would a son.
The truth I seek is only in dreams.
There is no peace for me here.
I will seek out my slain kinsmen
I will claim their riches
as rightful heir,
if I survive.
Mother, make haste,
when morning comes,
I must depart.
No longer Hervor,
My name is Hervarth.
There is no peace for me here.
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18. |
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Shepherd, no, I shall not flee!
Shelter I'll deny.
Bring me to the burial mounds
where the sons of Arngrím lie.
I command a Viking ship,
Hervarth is my name, my
crew and vessel bide off-shore.
Shepherd, no, I shall not fly!
Ghostly grave-fires fright’ me not,
Though your island blazes.
Long-dead men shall never see
Hervarth quit or quaver!
Shepherd, here’s a necklace dear--
I will give it to thee.
Guide me to the graveyard here.
Wherefore do you run from me?
Shepherd, fly! I shall not flee.
Coping with the coward
But seeks to embolden me.
Brave, I seek my destiny!
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19. |
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Awaken, Angantyr!
I am Hervor,
the only daughter of you and my mother.
Give me the sword Tyrfing
which the dwarves once made for Svafrlami.
Hervarðr, Hjörvarðr, Hrani, Angantyr!
Sons of Arngrím,
men of evil,
Speak to me.
Prove yourselves
of stronger stuff
than mold and dust
beneath this mound.
Hervarðr, Hjörvarðr, Hrani, Angantyr!
Bring me the sword
that Dvalinn forged,
or I will curse you
with mounds of worms
and stinging ants
that swarm your flesh.
Who are dead men
to keep such a blade?
Hell’s gate is lifting!
The grave yawns bright!
No infernal fire
will daunt my courage.
My father’s ghost!
Give me the sword!
I will guard it and wield it.
The flames subside...
I return to my ship,
the sword in hand.
I care not at all
how my sons shall strive beneath its burden.
May you all be at peace,
for I must depart.
I exist between worlds
when grave-fires burn around me.
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Maren Montalbano Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
A graduate of both New England Conservatory of Music and Tufts University, Maren Montalbano can be heard in 3 GRAMMY Award- winning albums: John Adams’ On the Transmigration of Souls (2005), Gavin Bryars’ The Fifth Century (2018) & Lansing McLoskey's Zealot Canticles (2019). Ms. Montalbano lives in New Jersey and sings most often with Opera Philadelphia, Trio Eos, and The Crossing. ... more
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