Eoin Búrcach
This is a very old ‘caoineadh’ – keen or lament – that Neilí shared with us many years ago. Versions of it have been found in other parts of Ireland with differing stories about the background. It starts as a dialogue between mother and daughter but it’s mostly the daughter’s voice we hear as she answers her mother, addresses her dead lover and speaks to the keening women who will lament him. Through this we’re given to understand the young woman’s husband has been killed but that her brothers have survived whatever incident that happened. Neilí had a wonderfully detailed story about how this all came about.
Ó fuist a níon is ná bí craite
Nár fusa duit fear a fháil ná dís deartháir;
Tá súil as an rí agam gurb iad mo chlann a tháinig
Is gurb é an Búrcach a’ chúil doinn a fágadh.
Ó tá suil as an rí agam gurb iad do chlann a fágadh
Donnchadh fionn geal chéadmhac mo mháthara;
Agus an Búrcach a theacht ón ghábhadh
Ó ná is leis fhéin a ba thrua mo chás-sa.
Ós a mháithrín dhíleas ó can mar is cóir duit
Nach é do chliamhain uasal óg é;
Ní hé mac mrá na mbailteach mór é
Is gur ina chliamhain ag an iarla a ba chóir é.
Is nach tú a dhéanfadh mo cheann a dheisiú
Is nach tú a dhéanfadh mo bhróga a bhreacadh;
Nach leat a dhéanfainnse casaoid m’ocrais
Ó nuair nár dhual domh fhéin a ghlacadh.
Ós a bean ud thall atá ag déanamh gáire
Nárba fada go raibh agat fios m’ábhair;
Do cheann cromtha is do chroí cráite
Is do dhá lámh teanntaithe fá mhac mo mháthara.
Ó druidigí thart a mhrá na gclócaí
Seo feoil chugaibh agus ní feoil chóir í;
Ní feoil muice í ná caoirigh rósta
Ach an Búrcach uasal a bhí i dtús a óige.
Oh hush daughter and don’t be tormented
Wouldn’t it easier for you to get a husband than two brothers
I hope to God it’s my family who have come home safely
And that Bourke of the brown hair has been left behind.
Oh I hope to God it’s your family who’ve been left behind,
Blond haired Donncha, my mother’s first son;
And that Bourke has come safely from the danger
For he alone would pity my story.
Oh dear mother sing as you should,
Isn’t he your noble young son-in-law
He’s not the son of a woman from the big towns
And he should have been the son-in-law of the Earl.
Isn’t it you who would fix my hair
Isn’t it you would polish my shoes
Isn’t it to you I’d complain if I was hungry
Oh when I wasn’t destined to accept it.
Oh yonder woman who is laughing
May it not be long until you know the cause of my sorrow
With your head hung low and your heart tormented
With your two hands clasped around my mother’s son.
Oh women of the cloaks draw near around
Here’s meat coming to you and it’s not proper meat
It’s not pork meat or roasted mutton
But noble Bourke who was in the flower of his youth.