Anach Cuain

Play recording: Anach Cuain

Má fháighimse sláinte is fada a bheas tráchtadh
ar an méid a báthadh ó Anach Cuain.
Mo thrua amáireach gach athair a’s máthair,
ó, bean a’s páiste atá ag sileadh súl.
A Rí na nGrásta a cheap neamh a’s párthas,
a Dhia, cér chás dúinn beirt nó triúr,
Ach lá chomh breá leis, gan gaoth ná báisteach,
ó, lán an bháid a scuabadh ar siúl.

Nár mhór an t-ionach os comhair na ndaoine
iad a fheiceáil sínte ar chúl a gcinn
Screadach is caoineadh a scanródh daoine,
bhí gruaig dá cíoradh is an chreach dá roinnt.
Bhí buachaillí óga ann, ag tigheacht don fhómhar,
dhá síneadh ar chróchair ‘s dhá dtabhairt go cill;
Ba é gléas a bpósta a bhí dhá dtórramh,
ach a Rí na Glóire, nár mhór an feall.

Baile Cláir a bhí in aice láime
Níor lig an t-ádh dhóibh a dhul aníos;
Bhí an bás chomh láidir, níor thug sé cairde
d’aon mhac máthar dár rugadh riamh;
Bhris an bád a’s báthadh na daoine,
scaip na caoirigh anonn sa snámh,
A Dhia, nach ansin a bhí an feall mór déanta
ar aon fhear déag a’s ochtar mná.

Ansiúd Dé hAoine ‘sea chluinfeá an caoineadh
ag teacht gach taobh dhíot a’s ag greadadh bos
A’s an lá thar oíche trom tuirseadh claoíte
gan ceo le déanamh ach ag síneadh corp.
A Dhia ‘s a Chríost a d’fhulaing íobairt
a cheannaigh go fírinneach an bocht ‘s an nocht
Go párrthas naofa go dtugair saor leat
gach créatúr díobh dhár thit faoin lot.

Loscadh sléibhe agus scalladh cléibhe
ar an áit ar éagadar is milleán crua;
Is iomaí créatúr a d’fhág sé ag géarghol,
ag gol ‘s ag éagaoin gach maidin Luain;
Ní díobháil eolais a chuir dá dtreo iad
ach mí-ádh mór a bhí sa gCaisleán Nua.
Is é críochnú m’amhráin gur báthadh mórán
a d’fhág ábhar dóláis in Anach Cuain.

Translation

If I am spared I’ll be long telling
Of the number drowned out of Annaghdown.
My pity tomorrow for the fathers and mothers,
Women and children who are weeping.
Oh King of graces, who created heaven and paradise,
Oh God, two or three would have been bad enough –
But such a fine day, without wind or rain,
To sweep away a whole boat-ful!

Wasn’t it a wonder for the people
To see them stretched out there;
Screeching and wailing that would terrify people,
Tearing of hair and grief being shared.
There were young boys there, for the coming harvest,
Being laid out on biers and taken to the graveyard;
Their wedding clothes were those they were waked in.
Oh King of Glory, what a great pity.

Claregalway was near at hand,
But fate wouldn’t let them come up;
Death was so strong that it gave no credit
To any mother’s son who was ever born.
The boat broke apart and the people were drowned;
The sheep were scattered about in the water.
Oh God, wasn’t that the great tragedy
For eleven men and eight women!

There on Friday you could hear the lamentation
From all sides, and the beating of hands,
And all that day and weary night spent
With nothing to do but lay out the dead.
Oh God, and Christ who endured sacrifice,
Who truly bought the poor and naked,
Take with you to holy paradise
All of those creatures whose lot fell on this day.

May the mountains burn, may hearts be tormented,
May hard destruction befall the place where they died!
For many a creature has been left lamenting,
Crying and keeing every Monday morning.
It wasn’t lack of seamanship that was the cause,
But the great ill-luck that was in Newcastle.
The end of my song is this: that many were drowned,
Which left food for sorrow in Annadown.