Doimnic Mac Giolla Bhríde - Maighre an Chúil Óir Bhuí

From Corn Uí Riada 2011

Chaith mé seacht seachtainí i Mainistir na Buaille
Mo shuí mo luí, ní mo chodladh ach mo mhuscladh
Nuair a shíl mé bheith teacht na bhaile is an eaglais a bheith faoi rún liom
‘Sé brí mo scéil a chailín gan tusa a bheith ag dúil liom.

‘S nach maith an fear fóinte mé lá Fómhair ‘gus Earraigh
Bhainfainn féin an chruithneacht agus chuirfinn romham í ins na bealaigh
Tá bláth buí ar an eorna is tá’n Fómhair ag pilleadh arís léi
Ach croí brúite ar an óigmhnaoi, nach lág brónach a d’fhág sí mise.

‘S nuair a théimse i gcos íseal dhéanaim faoisitin leis an t-sagart
Is ortsa a bhíom ag smaointeadh ó oíche go dtí’n mhaidin
‘S mura bpilleann tú a stóirín, faoi dhídean na coilleadh
‘Sí mo chónair a bhéas a cóiriú is fear mo chaointe i bhfad ó bhaile.

Ó bhí mé lá breá Samhraidh ag siúl cois na Bóinne
Tharla domhsa an spéirbhean is í a gabháil romham ina cóiriú
Fana pilín ard riabhach 'gus a diallait ghlan órbhuí
Is bhí na ceoltaí binn meidhreach le Máire an chúil órbhuí.

Tógfaidh mé mo sheolta go brónach fá Shamhain
Is ní dhéanfaidh mé stad nó cónaí nó go raibh mé féin is mo ghrá i Sasainn
‘Sé an trua nach an bás a bhí i ndán domh ar mo leabaí
Sular chuir mé cúl mo dhá láimh le cúilín bán deas i bhfad ó bhaile.

Tá smúid ar na réalta ar an ghréin is ar an ghealaigh
Tá dalladh ar mo radharc is ní léar dom na bealaigh
Tá cuachín i nGleann Éiniú más féidir domh í a mhealladh
Ní scarfaidh mé go h-éag léi nó go dtéigh muid araon i dtalamh.

Translation:
I spent seven weeks in the Boyle monastery,
Sitting, lying, not asleep but awake,
When I thought I'd be coming home and the church to be a secret to me,
The moral of the story, my girl, is that you weren't waiting for me.

Amn't I a good handy man on an autumn and spring day,
I'd reap the wheat myself and put it before me in the roads
There's a yellow flower on the barley, and the autumn is returning to it again,
But may the young woman be heartbroken, she left me weak and sad.

When I kneel down, I make confession with the priest,
It's you I think about from night until morning,
If you won't return, my love, under the shelter of the woods
My coffin will be prepared, and a man lamenting me far from home.

I was walking one fine summer's day by the banks of the Boyne,
The angel happened upon me, and she going past me in her finery,
With a high striped pillion and her clean, gold-yellow saddle,
And Mary of the gold locks had sweet merry music.

I'll raise my sails sadly in November,
And I won't stop until my love and I are in England,
It's a shame it wasn't death in store for me on my bed,
Before I put my two hands on [her] fine white locks far from home.

There's dust on the stars, on the sun and on the moon,
There's blindness on my sight and the ways aren't clear to mem
There's a cuckoo in Gleann Éiniú if I'm able to tempt it,
I won't split from 'til death, until we both go in the ground.

This is a song which is made up of verses taken from a few other songs, so it doesn't make a huge amount of cohesive sense. Verses from this song or very similar verses are found in the Conamara songs "Mainistir na Búille", "Tóigfidh Mé Mo Sheolta", and "Cuaichín Ghleann Neifin"