Young Ned Of The Hill
The Pogues| Original | Versione inglese della ballata originale in gaelico |
| 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 OF THE HILL "Who's that outside whose voice is urgent, pounding on my closed door?" "I'm Éamonn of the hill, drowned, cold and wet, from endlessly traveling mountains and glens." "Dearest love and treasure, what can I do for you but cover you with the lap of my dress?" And black gunpowder will be fired endlessly at us, and we will both perish!" "I've long been outside in snow and in frost, not daring to approach anyone. My fallow unplanted, my team in need of unyoking, and I no longer have them at all! I have no friend— how that grieves me— who’d take me in, early or late. And so I must go eastward across the sea, for it’s there I have no kindred." |
