Ceol an Phíobaire

The hackler, the weaver, and the tailor in the town have their eyes on this young maiden. So the piper writes this song describing how bad life will be for her if she marries one of them instead of him. It’s performed here by T with the Maggies – Moya Brennan, Mairéad Ní Mhaonaigh, Maighread Ní Dhomhnaill, and Tríona Ní Dhomhnaill.

Ceol an Phíobaire

Traidisiúnta lirci agus ceol úr
Má phósann tú an siostalóir, is tú a bheas ag caoineadh,
A mhuirnín dílis ‘fhaoilí ó,
Ó, beidh tú do thachtadh le barrach na tíre,
A mhuirnín dílis ‘fhaoilí ó,
Ó, beidh tú ‘do shuí go mbeidh sé an meán oíche,
Ag síordhó na gcoinneal is ag sciobadh an lín dó,
Míle b’fhearr duit mise agat, is ceol binn mo phíoba,
A mhuirnín dílis ‘fhaoilí ó.

Má phósann tú an fíodóir, is tú a bheas ag caoineadh,
A mhuirnín dílis ‘fhaoilí ó,
Beidh céad luig laig ag an úim a scaoileadh,
A mhuirnín dílis ‘fhaoilí ó,
Ó, beidh tú ‘do shuí go mbeidh sé an meán oíche,
Ag síordhó na gcoinneal is ag crónan fán íneadh,
Míle b’fhearr duit mise agat, is ceol binn mo phíoba,
A mhuirnín dílis ‘fhaoilí ó.

Má phósann tú an tailliúr, is tú a bheas ag caoineadh,
A mhuirnín dílis ‘fhaoilí ó,
Beidh sop i mbéal an dorais, mar bheadh madadh ar charnán aoiligh,
A mhuirnín dílis ‘fhaoilí ó,
Ó, beidh tú do shuí go mbeidh sé an meán oíche,
Ag síordhó na gcoinneal is ag creimneáil na bpíosaí,
Míle b’fhearr duit mise agat is ceol binn mo phíoba,
A mhuirnín dílis ‘fhaoilí ó.

Music of the Piper

If you marry the hackler, it’s you who will be crying,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
Oh you will suffocate with the roots of the earth,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
Oh you will sit until it is the middle of the night,
Rummaging for a candle and grabbing the spade,
You’d much prefer to have me and the sweet music of my pipes,
My own true love, my fair maiden.

If you marry the weaver, it’s you who will be crying,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
You’ll soon be weak and lost from the working of the loom,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
Oh you will sit until it is the middle of the night,
Rummaging for a candle and moaning from the poverty,
You’d much prefer to have me and the sweet music of my pipes,
My own true love, my fair maiden.

If you marry the tailor, it’s you who will be crying,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
There’ll be wisps of straw piled at the door, like a dog would drop his dung,
My own true love, my fair maiden,
Oh you will sit until it is the middle of the night,
Rummaging for a candle and gnawing bits of cloth,
You’d much prefer to have me and the sweet music of my pipes,
My own true love, my fair maiden.

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