Geaftaí Bhaile Buí
We heard this song from Aodh Ó Duibheannaigh (Hughie Phádaí Hiúdaí). He was a cousin of our father’s and a beautiful singer. Our late friend, the singer, Frank Harte was forever asking Maighread to sing the song as he loved the big interval in the melody. The narrator is unusually reflective about his failed attempt at courtship.
Ag geaftaí Bhaile Buí a rinne mise an gníomh
A bhí amaideach baoth déanta,
Ag éalú le mraoi seal tamaillt in san oíche
Ar neamhchead dá raibh faoi na spéartha.
Ó bhí mé gan bhrí gan mhisneach in mo chroí
Is í agam ar mhín shléibhe;
Bhí an codladh a mo chloí agus b’éigean domhsa luí
Is d’imigh sí ina fíormhaighdean.
Ag goil a luí don ghréin fán am seo aréir,
Is agamsa a bhí an scéala buartha;
Ba é a shamhail domhsa an té a shínfí insa chré
Ós a Mhuire nach mé an truaighe.
Is é a déarfadh mo chairde an méid acu a bhí i láthair
Altaigh leis na mrá a bhuachaill,
Is an méid a ngoillfeadh orthu mo chás,
Ó goilleadh siad a saith,
Fá mo chroí a bheith in mo lár
Ina ghual dubh.
Ós a Mhuire agus a Rí nach mairg a bíos
I dtoiseach an tsaoil le pléisiúr,
Agus a ghiorracht agus a bíos an tinneas a do cloí
Is a do tharraingt ar na críocha déanach’;
Ó níl sé ar an domhan, ní ar bith ’a mhó
Is peacaí agus is mó dá ndéantar
Ná an mhaighdeán dheas óg a mhealladh le do phóg
Is á fágáil faoi bhrón ina dhiaidh sin.
At the gates of Baile Buí, I did the deed
That was foolish and unwisely done
Going off with a woman for a portion of the night
In defiance of all that was accepted.
For I was weak without courage in my heart
As I took her to a spot in the mountains
The tiredness overcame me and I had to lie down
And she left as a true maid (virgin).
As the sun went down about this time last night
I had the sorry tale to tell
You’d compare me to a person who’d been stretched in the clay
Oh mother Mary am I not a pity
My friends who were present would say
Give thanks for the women, my fellow
And anyone who is affected by my dilemma
Let them be truly so
For my heart in my breast
Is a black coal.
Oh mother Mary and highest King, isn’t it a terrible pity
To be enrapt in pleasure in the start of life
However briefly the sickness afflicts you
And draws you towards your final end.
There is nothing in this world more grave
Nor more sinful of all the things that are done
Than to entice the young maid with your kiss
And leave her in sorrow after that.