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As Gaeilge
Cúirt An Mheán-Oíche
by Brian Merriman
| Brian
Bhreathnaigh mé cruinn an ríon réaltach, Lagaigh mo chroí le linn bheith réidh di, Agus d’airigh mé dásacht ghrábmhar éigin ‘Is pairithis báis im chnámha ‘is im chéadfaí. Chonaic mé an tír ‘san tíos ar luascadh, ‘Is fuinneamh a cainte ag rince im chluasa. Tagann an bíoma bíogach báille Agus leathnann mo líthe ar shíneadh a láimhe. Tharraing mé ar chuais go stuacach stórrtha Agus sracann léi suas ar uachtar boird mé. Preabann an bháb so a chráigh an t-aonta. Agus greadadh na lámh ‘sis ard a léim sí, ‘Sis aibí a dúirt: Spéirbhean A chrústa chríonna! Is fada mé ag súil le do chúlsa a chíoradh! Is minic a slaíodh tú, a chroí gan daonnacht! Is mithid duit stríochadh do shlí na mbéithe. Cosaint cá bhfaighidh tú in aghaidh na cúise? Focal níor thuill tú, a leadhb gan lúithchleas. Cá bhfuil do shaothar saor le suíochant? Cá bhfuil na béithe buíoch ded ghníomhartha? Breathnaigh a bhaill seo, a mhaighre mhaorga, Ainimh ní bhfaighim air a mhill ar bhéithe é, Breathnaigh go cruinn a ghnaoi ‘sa ghéaga. Ó bhaithis a chinn go boinn a chaolchos Bíodh gur ainmhí an-mhíchumtha é, Chímse ceangailte a bharradh gan diúlta! Gile ní ghráfainn; b’fhearr liom buí é, Agus cuma na gnámh ní cháinfinn choíche, Duine a bheidh dronn ina dhrom agus fána ann, Is minic sin togha fir cromshlinneánach! Is minic sin gamba ina lannsa gníomhach Agus ioscada cam ag stampa bríomhar. Is fátha folaithe uireaspach éigin D’fhág an doirfeach foirfe in aonta, ‘Is méid a cheana idir mhaithe na tíre, A réim le sealad a gcaradas saoithe, Ag seinm ar ceolta, sport ‘is aoibhneas, Ag imirt ‘is ag ól i gcomhair na ndaoine Ar bhord na foirinne, fuinneamh ‘is féile. Don tsúmaire b’fhuras dom urraimse géilleadh; Is taibhseach, tairfeach, taitneamhach, tréitheach, Meidhreach, meanmnach a ainm, is aerach; Ainmhí ded short níor ordaigh an Tiarna — Geanmnaí fós i gcóngar liathadh! Crithim go bonn le fonn do dhaortha, Is gairid an chabhair do labartha baotha Is coir, mós díreach, suíte an t-éadan A bheith deich faoi thrí gan chuibhreach céile. Éistigh liomsa, a chlú na foighne! Faighimse cúnamh i gcúis na maidhme! An crá ‘san dúladh, mhúch gan bhrí mé A mhná na múirne! is rún liom íoc air. Cúnamh! deirim libh! beirigí air! tóg é! A Úna! gairim tú! faigh dom corda! Cá bhfuil tú, a Áine? ná bí ar iarraidh! Ceangailse, a Mháire, a lámha taobh thiar de. A Mhuirinn! a Mheibh! a Shaidhbh ‘is a Shíle Cuirigí i bhfeidhm le doigheartha díograis’ Barra gach scóladh d’ordaigh an tsíbhean; Báigí san bhfeoil gach corda ‘is snaidhm air. Tomhais go dian na pianta ‘is cruatan Le tóin, le tiarpa Bhriain gan trua. Tóg na lámha agus ardaigh sciúirse, Is sampla sámh é, a mhná na múirne. Gearraigí domhain é, níor thuill sé fábhar Agus bainigí an leadhb ó rinn go sála. Cloistear an cling i gcíocha Éibhir A crithfeadh a gcroí ins na críonnaigh aonta. Is ciallmhar, ceart an reacht é, sílim Bliain an achta so is maith é a scríobh dúinn: Réitigh ‘is ceil, nó goid do sceimhle, Céad ‘is deich faoi leith ar mhíle, Dúbail ceart an freastal fuílligh, Thúrlaing Mac Dé an tseachtain roimhe sin. Brian Glacann sí peann ‘is mo cheannsa suaite Ar eagla m’fheannta agus scanradh an bhuailte. An aga a bhí sí ag scríobh an dáta ‘Is maithe an tí aici suite ar garda, Scaras lem néal agus réidheas mo shúile Agus phreabas de léim ón bpéin im dhúiseacht. CRÍOCH |
Brian I looked closely at the starry queen, My heart weakened as she concluded, And I experienced a certain horrible sensation And paralysis of death in my bones and in my senses. I saw the land and the household swaying, And the vigour of her speech dancing in my ears. Comes the tall, sprightly bailiff And I lost my colour at the stretching out of his hand. He pulled me by the ear, stubbornly, angrily, And dragged me by it up to the table-top. Up jumped this babe who tormented the single one. With a beating of her hands she leaped high, And quick-witted, said she: Fair Lady You old miser! It’s long I’ve been hoping to rake that back of yours! It’s often you were warned, you heart without humanity! It’s time for you to submit to the law of the maidens. Where will you find a defence against the accusation? Not a word do you deserve, you decrepit clod. Where is your work freely to be established? Where are the maidens grateful for your deeds? Inspect these limbs of his, oh stately beauty, I find no blemish on him that spoils him for women, Inspect minutely his appearance and his limbs. From the top of his head to the soles of his feet Although he do be an animal very ill-shaped, I see his superiors married without question! Pallor I’d not like; I prefer him tanned, And the shape of his bones I’d never condemn, [Or] a person who’d be a hump-back with a droop there, It’s often the pick of a man [is] round-shouldered! Often there’s a long-legs in an active youth And a cripple’s crooked hams [are often] lively. There’s some reasons, secret and defective, That left this sullen old man single, In spite of the amount of his esteem among the gentry, His career for a while in the friendship of the wise, Playing music, sport and pleasure, Gambling and drinking among the people At the table of the company, [with] vigour and delight. To the scrounger it’d be easy for me to yield respect; It’s magnificent, useful, pleasant, accomplished, Merry and thoughtful his name — and pleasant; A beast of your sort the Lord didn’t design — Single still, close to becoming grey! I tremble to the sole with desire to condemn you, It is soon the help of your foolish utterances Is a crime, quite definitely; the effrontery To be thirty years without bonds of marriage. Listen to me you paragon of patience! Let me get help in the business of flogging! The torment and the longing smothered me powerless, Oh women of spirit! and I intend him to pay. Help! I call on you! catch him! arrest him! Una! I call on you! fetch me a rope! Where are you, Anna? don’t be missing! Bind, oh Mary, his hands behind him. Oh Marion, Maeve, Sive and Sheila! Put into action with fiery fervour The maximum of every torment the fairy ordered; Sink in his flesh each rope and knot on him. Deal out severely the pains and the hardship On the bottom and backside of Brian, without pity. Lift your hands and raise up the scourge, It’s a splendid example he is, oh women of spirit. Cut him deep, he doesn’t deserve sympathy And strip his hide from top to heels. Let the knell be heard within the bounds of Ireland That’d shake their hearts in the withered bachelors. It is sensible and just, the decree, I think The year of this act it’s good to write for us: Settle and be quiet, or cease your terror, A hundred and ten away from a thousand, Double exactly the remainder of the subtraction, The Son of God came down the week before that Brian She seizes a pen, and my head [was] in a whirl In fear of my flaying and in terror of the beating. The moment she was writing the date With her household nobles sitting on guard, I awoke from my trance and cleared my eyes, And I sprang with a leap from the pain into my waking. END |
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