Young Ned Of The Hill
The PoguesOriginale | La ballata originale gaelica |
YOUNG NED OF THE HILL Have you ever walked the lonesome hills And heard the curlews cry Or seen the raven black as night Upon a windswept sky To walk the purple heather And hear the westwind cry To know that's where the rapparee must die Since Cromwell pushed us westward To live our lowly lives There's some of us have deemed to fight From Tipperary mountains high Noble men with wills of iron Who are not afraid to die Who'll fight with gaelic honour held on high A curse upon you Oliver Cromwell You who raped our Motherland I hope you're rotting down in hell For the horrors that you sent To our misfortunate forefathers Whom you robbed of their birthright "To hell or Connaught" may you burn in hell tonight Of one such man I'd like to speak A rapparee by name and deed His family dispossessed and slaughtered They put a price upon his head His name is know in song and story His deeds are legends still And murdered for blood money Was young Ned of the hill You have robbed our homes and fortunes Even drove us from our land You tried to break our spirit But you'll never understand The love of dear old Ireland That will forge and iron will As long as there are gallant men Like young Ned of the hill | ÉAMONN AN CHNOIC "Cé hé sin amu a bhfuil faobhar a ghuth, a’ réabadh mo dhorais dhúnta?" "Mise Éamonn a' Chnoic, atá báite fuar fliuch, ó shíor-shiúl sléibhte is gleannta." "A lao ghil 's a chuid, cad a dheánfainn-se dhuit mura gcuirfinn ort binn de mo ghúna? 'S go mbeidh púdar dubh 'á lámhach linn go tiubh, ‘s go mbeidh muid araon múchta!" "Is fada mise amu faoi shneachta is faoi shioc, ‘s gan dánacht agam ar éinne. Mo bhranar gan cur, mo sheisreach gan scor, is gan iad agam ar aon chor! Níl cara agam— is danaid liom sin— a ghlacfadh mé moch ná déanach. ‘S go gcaithfe mé ghoil thar fairraige soir, ó's ann nach bhfuil mo ghaolta." |