liveIreland

Irish Internet Radio and TV from Dublin, Ireland.

Song

by Thomas Moore
the greatest Irish lyrist
born Dublin, 1779 - died 1852
Have you not seen the timid tear
Steal trembling from mine eye?
Have you not mark'd the flush of fear,
Or caught the murmur'd sigh?
And can you think my love is chill,
Nor fix'd on you alone?
And can you rend, by doubting still,
A heart so much your own?

To you my soul's affections move
Devoutly, warmly, true:
My life has been a task of love,
One long, long thought of you.
If all your tender faith is o'er,
If still my truth you'll try;
Alas! I know but one proof more -
I'll bless your name, and die!

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Colleen

First, I hope that I am not being vain in assuming that you were refering to the poem that I wrote yesterday for all of my LI friends. Thank you for such a grand compliment.

Nothing pleases a poet, at least me, more than the ability of a reader to find the simplicity of the words and the message. There are too few romantics left in the world -- a terrible thing. There are too few "chasers of beauty" -- even more terrible. The Irish -- you, an Irish girl, are part of the legacy of protecting the romantic and the beautiful.

Is maith an scathan suil charad. (A friend's eye is a good mirror.)

Frank Daub
I am a hopeless romantic as well. Good to see that there are still a few left. :-) I love poetry. I have since I was young and this particular piece was heartfelt to me. I love poems like this too. I am happy that everyone is enjoying this forum. :-)
Well, now the temptation to do more has been hightened by such remarks. I wrote the following yesterday, as well. And I promise to be prudent before posting any more original work. Seldom, since my undergarduate days, have I been tempted to show my work. But all of ye are enouragers and enablers. So:

Why the Irish Sing and Dance
By Frank Daub
2008

Which the merrier – a speech or song?
One moves men to freedom
The other moves the soul along.

If they could, the Irish would
Transport their freedom to all the world.
From Parnell’s fire and flame
To Pearce’s sacramental offerings seldom heard.

Yet it is their music, the dreamer’s lively feet at dance,
That makes them known best,
And poems set to music that brings the good unrest.

Then why their gift of blarney?
Why their speeches set to life?
They’ve made their songs their army,
Sent to combat tears and strife.

The Irish are not selfish, and radiate from sea to sea,
The message that the music makes
Every freedom fighter
Free.
Frank,

Is not poetry the true voice of the inner soul? And who can separate the dancer from the dance? I think we are being treated to the creative side of you – the dancer has become the dance. . . Free at last!

As you say ‘The Irish are not selfish’. May this be your impetus for giving us more original work! Not to mention the joy that we derive as observers – both casual and committed. This is indeed great stuff.

Walter . . .
I like it. Thanks
Hermines
And sometimes, the beautiful Irish words are put to music. This is one of my favorite song lyrics.

Buachaill ón Éirne mé's bhréagfainn cailín deas óg
Ní fhiarfainn bó spré léi, táimse féin saibhir go leor
'S liom Corcaigh dá mhéad é, is dhá thaobh a' ghleanna, 's Tír Eoghain
'S mura n-aithraigh mé béasa's mé an t-aidhir ar chontae Mhuigheo

Rachfaidh mé amárach ag déanamh leanna fán choill
Gan coite, gan bád, gan gráinín breac ar bith liom
Ach duilliúr na gcraobh mar éadaigh leaba ós mo chionn
's óró sheacht m'anam déag thú, 's tú ag féachaint orm anall

Buachailleacht bó, mo leo, nár chleacht mise riamh
Ach ag imirt 's ag ól le h-ógmhná deasa ón sliabh
Má chaill mé mo stór, ní móide gur chaill mé mo chiall
Is ní mó liom do phóg ná an bhróg atáim ag caitheamh le bliain

A chúisle 's a stór, ná pós an seanduine liath
Ach pós an fear óg, mo leo, mura maire sé ach bliain
Nó beidh tú go fóill gan uadh nó mac ós do chionn
A shílfeadh aon deor ort tráthnóna nó ar maidin go trom
Beautiful, but my Irish is so unpracticed, I cannot rememeber what many of the words mean.
I think these are the words if I've had them translated correctly.

Come by the hills to the land where fancy is free.
And stand where the peaks meet the sky and the loughs meet the sea,
Where the rivers run clear and the bracken is gold in the sun;

And the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done.

Come by the hills to the land where life is a song.
And stand where the birds fill the air with their joy all day long,
Where the trees sway in time and even the wind sings in tune;
And, the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done.

Come by the hills to the land where legend remains.
The stories of old, fill the heart and may yet come again,
Where the past has been lost and the future is still to be won;
And, the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done.

And, the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done.
Correction on translation, these are the words used to the song in English, but it's not the correct translation from the Irish lyrics. If anyone can translate the correct words that would be great. :)
The title is Buachaill ón Éirne

My favorite arrangement of it is sung by Damian MgGinty of Celtic Thunder.
Sadly, it appears that Lisa’s ‘Beautiful Irish poem’ forum has become silent for a period of time. Are we on ‘hiatus’? Where have all the poems and poetry lovers gone? Dare I take a leadership role and offer an original but small piece to rekindle our affair with the poem and poets? I’ll take that as a resounding ‘yes’! And now to the poem (almost) . . .

“I will thank you to remember Miss Scarlet while this piece may not be technically Irish in tonality and content, it is nevertheless penned from my Irish heart. Moreover, my propensity to write and talk is only outweighed by my capacity to drink. And, Frankly ‘My Dear’. . . I don’t give a d@!!. Slàinte!”

This Picture That Is You . . .
(A poem by Walter Magill © Copyright 2003)

I pictured you in portrait
On the canvas of my mind.
I coloured you in passion
Painting lips of ruby wine.
Your hair I sprayed with stardust
Your eyes an earthy hue.
And I framed it in my reverie
This picture that is you.

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