Two Irish rebel songs.
The first is Slievenamon by the Wolfe Tones, the poem by 19th century Irish revolutionary Charles Kickham set to music. It has to be the only love song ever made where the guy wishes that his girl would return to lead an uprising for his homeland. Those Irish rebels sure do expect a lot from their women.
Alone, all alone by the wave-washed strand
And alone in a crowded hall
The hall it is gay and the waves they are grand
But my heart is not here at all
It lies far away by night and by day
To the times and the joys that are gone
But I never will forget the sweet maiden I met
In the valley near Slievenamon
Oh it was not the grace of her queenly air
Nor her cheek of the roses' glow
Nor her soft black eyes nor her flowing hair
Nor was it her lily white brow
'Twas the soul of truth and of melting ruth
And the smile like a summer's dawn
That stole my heart away one soft summer's day
In the valley near Slievenamon.
In the festive hall by the star watched shore
Oh ever my restless spirit cries
My love oh my love will I ne'er see you more
And my land will you never uprise
By night and by day I ever ever pray
While lonely my life flows on
To see our flag unrolled
And my true love to enfold
In the valley near Slievenamon.
The second is Óró, Sé Do Bheatha Abhaile. I know the Dubliners version that was written by Padraig Pearse.
In Irish:
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Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile,
Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile,
Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile
Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh.
'Sé do bheatha, a bhean ba léanmhar,
Do b' é ár gcreach tú bheith i ngéibheann,
Do dhúiche bhreá i seilbh méirleach,
Is tú díolta leis na Gallaibh.
Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile,
Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile,
Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile
Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh.
Tá Gráinne Mhaol ag go duill ar sáile,
Óglaigh armtha léi mar gharda,
Gaeil iad féin is ní Gaill ná Spáinnigh,
Is cuirfidh siad ruaig ar Ghallaibh.
Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile,
Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile,
Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile
Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh.
A bhuí le Rí na bhFeart go bhfeiceam,
Mura mbeam beo ina dhiaidh ach seachtain,
Gráinne Mhaol agus míle gaiscíoch,
Ag fógairt fáin ar Ghallaibh.
Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile,
Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile,
Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile
Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh.
English translation:
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Oh-ro, welcome home
Oh-ro, welcome home
Oh-ro, welcome home
Now that summer's coming!
Hail, oh woman, who was so afflicted,
It was our ruin that you were in chains,
Our fine land in the possession of thieves...
While you were sold to the foreigners!
Oh-ro, welcome home
Oh-ro, welcome home
Oh-ro, welcome home
Now that summer's coming!
Grace O'Malley is coming over the sea,
Armed warriors as her guard,
Only Gaels are they, not French nor Spanish
and they will rout the foreigners!
Oh-ro, welcome home
Oh-ro, welcome home
Oh-ro, welcome home
Now that summer's coming!
May it please the King of Prodigy that we might see,
Although we may live but one week after,
Gráinne Mhaol and a thousand warriors...
Dispersing the foreigners!
Oh-ro, welcome home
Oh-ro, welcome home
Oh-ro, welcome home
Now that summer's coming!


