Teanaiḋ ⁊ téiḋeaḋ an deoċ timċioll. Feuċ, a Ċearḃaill. Baḋ ḋóiġ liom go raiḃ an léim úd ro-ṁór ó “ċúl na cuinge” go “stiúir na luinge.”
C. Tusa ṫug an léim sin. B’éigean daṁ-sa ṫú do leanaṁaint.
T. Am basa,[1] tá agat arís! Ní ’l aon ṁait ḃeiṫ leat.
Notes.
- ↑ Ambasa, an interjection, perhaps for am ḃaisteaḋ, by my baptism.
Mioṫal, more correctly meiṫeal, a band of reapers. The word is found in this sense in the Seanċus Mór, one of the oldest works in the language. It was used by an Irish-speaking witness at a Connaught assize a few years ago, and nobody in court was found able to translate it.
This seems to imply great dexterity; a doubtful boast, still I must give it as I got.
Ní luġa ná, a common idiom to express the second of two negatives: níor laḃair Seaġán drud. ní luġa ná ċuir sé tor de. John did not speak a syllable, no less than he put a move from him (= neither did he move); níor laḃras leis, agus ní luġa ná laḃair seisean liom-sa, I did not speak to him, no more did he speak to me.
Fágaim le huḋaċt “I leave by will,” i.e. I solemnly declare.
A ṁalairt “its exchange,” i.e., anything instead of it.
Teanaim come (thou) along! teanaíḋ come (ye), along! Teanaimís, let us come along; teanaim ort (= tart ?) come away! teanaíḋ oraiḃ (= taraiḃ?) come (ye) away! teanaimís orainn (= tarainn ?) let us come away.
“Perhaps it never was better for me.” B’ ḟéidir nárḃ’ ḟearra ḋam rud a ḋeunfainn has the same meaning. Fearra={{fearr in Munster before ḋam, ḋuit, &c. So seana-ḃean, ana-ċuid, for sean- ḃean, an-ċuid.
“It was a good beauty at you,” it well became you; in English idiom, “you were equal to the occasion.”
Anois beag just now. “Dé Luain seo ġaḃ ṫarainn” last Monday. An é an Luan beag so? Is it this very last Monday.
In dar fiaḋ we have a survival of the old word Fiaḋa, gen. -ḋat = God.
TRANSLATION.
CARROLL BUIDHE OF THE SONGS.
Carroll Buidhe of the songs was a poet. He was one day going to Ballycotton, and he met a man named Foxy Tim:
C. God and Mary with you, Tim.
T. God and Mary and Patrick with you, Carroll. How far is your journey, Carroll?
C. Only to the Caiteach, Tim. How far is your own journey?
T. Wisha, only eastwards here to the church cross. We will be cutting down corn on Monday next, with the help of God, and I am going east to see could I collect a body of reapers.
C. I think it is a good time. The corn is cut down everywhere, and the men are after coming home.
T. ’Tis true for you. I was speaking last night to Tim Healy. He was after coming home from Blarney. He said he saw you there, and that there were two or three there, who did not know you, and that one of them asked another “who was the yellow little man.” You perceived the question, and you had the first of the answer in this way:
“I am yellow Carroll of the songs;
I could play a piece of music on harp-strings;
I could make a tine-comb and a riddle;
I could put a fibre in the bottom of a sieve.
I playa goal, and tighten a thong in my shoe.
But, God bless my hand! I have made as yet but
one sieve.”
C. That, ha, ha, was true for Tim. We do always have great fun at Blarney.
T. Look here, Carroll, there is always great wonder on myself how ye make this poetry. If I were to wear out my sense with it, I could not put one together.
C. Not so, Tim, but you are making poetry every day of your life, and every hour of the day, if you could perceive it, and place it together.
T. You are a funny man, Carroll; I did not make one bit of poetry ever, and neither did any word ever come out of my mouth that any other person could take poetry out of it.
C. How far is it from here to Ballycotton?
T. As you would say half a mile.
C. I’ll bet you a quart of beer that you will have a dán made before we shall be at Ballycotton.
T. Arra, nonsense! I confess, Carroll, that I tried, there are twenty years since, to compose a song in praise of Shanagarry—“Shanagarry of the music,” said I, and if I got Ireland I could not go further on it.
C. Will you lay the wager?
T. I will, and welcome, and so I may, you will have to pay.
C. Wait a while. But let us see what young Ned is doing over the way.
T. He is making a hedge on his garden, and it is little good for him, for when those willows wither, the goats will be able to get through them. God and Mary with you, Ned!
N. God and Mary and Patrick with you, Tim, and with you also, Carroll. Have you any news? At what are you shaking your head, Tim?
T. I am shaking my head, Ned, because that fresh willow is a bad hedge.
N. It can't be helped, I have not any other.
T. Oh! stop, man, don't put the withered sapling into the hedge. The fresh thing is bad enough, but it will do the business for a while.
C. Come along, Tim, that I may get my quart of beer from you.
N. For what reason, Carroll, are you to get a quart of beer from Tim?
T. A bet, if you please, he has made with me, that I would have a dán of poetry made before we would be both in Ballycotton—I that never made a dán of poetry, and no wonder!
N. I am afraid, Carroll, that you will have to pay this turn.
C. Come along, if it is, and have your share of the drink.
N. Perhaps it may be as well for me (perhaps it was never better for me).
