Transcript

A Dhonncha, is léan liom do scéalta le n-insint
Gur iompaís ód thréad is go lucht an Bhéarla (d'umhlaís),
(Go dtugais) Bíobla an éithigh, (an t-aon) mhasla d'Íosa,
Ná raibh aon (bhrí ann do mhnaoi) mhánla (gurb í máthair gheal Chríost í),
Cuimhnigh is machnaigh ar bheatha na naomh,
Agus níl ag an gconairt ach (dlithe gur) claon,
Ar mhúscailt na maidne b'fhé' gur in ifreann scóltha
Do bheadh cóiriú ar do leabaidh 's nach i bhflaitheas na (glóire).

Iarrse na grásta ar an Slánaitheoir Naofa
Is ar an Maighdean mhilis mhánla do bhí lámh leis mar chéile
Mar is í a chonaic sa Pháis é go cráite tinn céasta
Mar a bheadh rí amadánta ag an ngarda (dhá dhaoradh),
Dortadh a chuid fola ar an gcrois, ar a ghruaig,
A ghéaga dhá cheangal gan taise gan trua,
Creidse go bhfágfair gan (sámhnas) an saol so,
Gur charaid lá an ghátair dhuit Máthair an Aonmhic.

Tá m'intinn go buartha 's níl suaimhneas aon lae orm
Ó chuala gur ghluaisis le cuallacht an Bhéarla
Mar (gur shílíos) gur buachaill ciúin stuamtha mall séimh thú,
Gur róbhreá an dualgas do fuarais ón Aonmhac,
Ná díol ar (bhreib) dhamanta gan (f)ís gan aon chlaon
Mar is róghearr do chairt nó do lón ar an saol,
Cuimhnigh ar an lá úd a bheidh sliocht Adam ar aonchnoc
Ná bíodh fearg na ngrást geal le háiteamh i t'éadan.

Tá an Diach so róghnóthach, is dócha gur fíor é
Gur stiúraigh sé an ród tú gan chomhairle ód mhuintir,
Go (dtógais) an choróin gheal do (gheobhaimis ár gcian) dúinn,
Céad moladh go deo leis na (comhachta gur dhíolais),
Fill ar do charaid agus glacfar tú arís,
Ná díol áras na ngrás geal ar fhálthas an tsaoil,
Bíodh cathú ar do chroí istigh á insint 'od chomharsain
Ar do bholg Dé hAoine gur dhíolais a ghlóire.

Ar shaibhreas ná ar (thobhal)achaibh ná ar fheoil Aoine an Chéasta
Is ná scar leis an nglóire ar shócmhainní an tsaoil seo
Ach iompaigh do chóta is go deo ní bheidh baol ort,
Iarrse na comhachta, do gheobhair iad ón Aonmhac,
Beidh Mícheál is Peadar i do charaid lá an bháis,
Baintiarna na bhFlaitheas do thógfaidh tú ar láimh,
Beir an Sacraimín Naofa mar éarnaist chuin Críost leat,
Bíodh an olla ar t'éadan is an scéimh ainglí ort.

Translation

Denis, my grief it is to tell your story
That you turned from your tribe and humbled yourself (?) to the English speakers,
That you swore (?) by the false Bible, the one insult to Christ,
That gave no meaning to the gentle woman who was the bright mother of Christ (?),
Think of and remember the lives of the saints,
And all the dogs have is unjust laws (?),
At morning's awakening it might be in scorching hell
That your bed will be made and not in glorious (?) heaven.

Ask for grace from the Holy Saviour
And from the precious sweet Virgin who was as a wife beside him
Because it was she who saw him in his Passion, tormented, sore, suffering
Like a king of fools condemned(?) by the guard,
His blood was spilled on the cross, on his hair,
His limbs tied without kindness or pity,
Believe that you will leave this life without respite(?),
That your friend in your day of need is the Mother of the Only Son.

My mind is tormented and I don't have a day's peace
Since I heard that you were moving among the speakers of English
Because I thought(?) you were a quiet sensible soft slow boy,
That you got a fine reward (?) from the Only Son,
Don't sell out for a damned bribe(?) without just vision (?)
Because your time (?) in this life is too short,
Think of that day when the descendants of Adam are on one hill
Don't have the anger of the bright glory to be seen on your forehead.

This Devil is too busy, it is probably true
That he directed you on this road without the advice of your parents,
That you took(?) the silver crown ... (?),
Praise be forever to the powers you betrayed (?),
Return to your friends and you will be accepted again,
Don't betray the house of mercy for the profit of this life,
Feel regret in your heart when you tell your neighbours
That you betrayed his glory for [to fill] your belly [with soup] on Friday.

For riches or food(?) or meat on Good Friday
For the assets of this life don't part from the glory [of God],
But turn your coat and you will never be in danger,
Seek the powers (?), you will get them from the Only Son
Michael and Peter will be your friends on the day of death,
The Lady of Heaven will take you in hand,
Bring the Holy Sacrament as a pledge to Christ,
Have the oil on your forehead and the angelic look.

Commentary

A longer version of this song was collected by Mícheál Ó Cuilleanáin and published under the title 'Comhairle an Athar Dáth Ó Briain do Dhonchadh Ó Súilleabháin' in Timire an Chroí Naofa (March 1912), 39-40. In the song, Father Dáth Ó Briain criticises Donnchadh Ó Súilleabháin for changing religion and pleads with him to reverse his decision. Several versions of the song were collected by The Irish Folklore Commission in the 1930s and 40s from west Kerry and Cork, including a version from the present singer, Padraig Ó Ceallaigh, which can be accessed in the National Folklore Collection, UCD.