Róisín Dubh
Melodia
tradizionale irlandese del XVI sec
CHERISH
THE LADIES: Out And About
Canzone cantata tradizionalmente in irlandese, appartiene
al genere delle aisling song nelle quali la donna amata è in realtà l’Irlanda.
A
Róisín ná bíodh brón ort fé'r éirigh dhuit:
Tá na bráithre 'teacht thar sáile 's iad ag
triall ar muir,
Tiocfaidh do phárdún ón bPápa is ón Róimh anoir
'S ní spárálfar fíon Spáinneach ar mo Róisín
Dubh.
Is fada an réim a léig mé léi ó inné 'dtí inniu,
Trasna sléibhte go ndeachas léi, fé sheolta ar
muir;
An éirne is chaith mé 'léim í, cé gur mór é an
sruth;
'S bhí ceol téad ar gach taobh díom is mo Róisín
Dubh.
Mhairbh tú mé, a bhrídeach, is nárbh fhearrde dhuit,
Is go bhfuil m'anam istigh i ngean ort 's ní
inné ná inniu;
D'fhág tú lag anbhfann mé i ngné is i gcruth-
Ná feall orm is mé i gnean ort, a Róisín Dubh.
Shiúbhalfainn féin an drúcht leat is fásaigh ghuirt,
Mar shúil go bhfaighinn rún uait nó páirt dem
thoil.
A chraoibhín chumhra, gheallais domhsa go raibh
grá agat dom
-'S gurab í fíor-scoth na Mumhan í, mo Róisín
Dubh.
Beidh an Éirne 'na tuiltibh tréana is réabfar cnoic,
Beidh an fharraige 'na tonntaibh dearga is
doirtfear fuil,
Beidh gach gleann sléibhe ar fud éireann is
móinte ar crith,
Lá éigin sul a néagfaidh mo Róisín Dubh.
|
ROSA NERA
Little Rose, be not sad for all that hath
behapped thee:
The friars are coming across the sea, they march
on the main.
From the Pope shall come thy pardon, and from
Rome, from the East-
And stint not Spanish wine to my Little Dark
Rose.
Long the journey that I made with her from yesterday till today,
Over mountains did I go with her, under the
sails upon the sea,
The Erne I passed by leaping, though wide the
flood,
And there was string music on each side of me
and my Little Dark Rose!
Thou hast slain me, O my bride, and may it serve thee no whit,
For the soul within me loveth thee, not since
yesterday nor today,
Thou has left me weak and broken in mien and in
shape,
Betray me not who love thee, my Little Dark
Rose!
I would walk the dew with thee and the meadowy wastes,
In hope of getting love from thee, or part of my
will,
Frangrant branch, thou didst promise me that
thou hadst for me love-
And sure the flower of all Munster is Little Dark Rose!
Had I a yoke of horses I would plough against the hills,
In middle-Mass I'd make a gospel of my Little
Dark Rose,
I'd give a kiss to the young girl that would
give her mouth to me,
And behind the liss would lie embracing my Little
Dark Rose!
The Erne shall rise in rude torrents, hills shall be rent,
The sea shall roll in red waves, and blood be
poured out,
Every mountain glen in Ireland, and the bogs
shall quake
Some day ere shall perish my Little Dark Rose!
|
