]> La lamentation d'Irlande Deorchaoineadh na hÉireann Irlands Lamentation Lamentatio Hiberniae An electronic edition unknown Rudolf Thurneysen Electronic edition compiled by Beatrix Färber Miriam Trojer Proof corrections by Beatrix Färber University College, Cork The EU via the LEONARDO Lifelong Learning Programme and the HEA via PRTLI 4 First draft, revised and corrected. 3240 CELT: Corpus of Electronic Texts: a project of the Department of History, University College, Cork
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 This text contains three poems; an Irish one, and two contemporary translations of the same; one into English, the other into Latin. Manuscript sources Göttingen, Niedersächsische Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek, Cod. Ms. hist. 773, written by Irish Franciscan Anthony O'Conor in the Francisan College in Prague, 1659. [Thanks are due to Frau Bärbel Mund of the Niedersächsische Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek for supplying catalog details.] Secondary literature R. B. McDowell, 'The problem of religious dissent in Ireland, 1660–1740'. Bulletin, Irish Committee of Historical Sciences 40 (1945). Jane H. Ohlmeyer (ed.), Ireland from independence to occupation 1641–1660 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1995). Joseph T. Leerssen, Mere Irish and Fíor-Ghael: studies in the idea of Irish nationality, its development and literary expression prior to the nineteenth century (Critical Conditions: Field Day Essays, Cork University Press 1996). Jane H. Ohlmeyer 'The civil wars in Ireland'. In: John Philipps Kenyon; Jane H. Ohlmeyer (eds.), The civil wars: a military history of England, Scotland, and Ireland 1638–1660 (Oxford: Oxford University Press 1998) 73–102. Micheál Ó Siochrú, Confederate Ireland 1642–1649: a constitutional and political analysis. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1998. Jane H. Ohlmeyer (ed.). Political thought in seventeenth-century Ireland: kingdom or colony. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press in association with the Folger Institute, Washington, DC, 2000. Pádraig Lenihan, Confederate Catholics at War 1641–49, Cork: Cork University Press, 2001. Michelle O'Riordan, Irish Bardic Poetry and Rhetorical Reality (Cork 2007). The edition used in the digital edition Rudolf Thurneysen La lamentation d'Irlande Revue Celtique 14 Paris Émile Bouillon 1893 153–162

CELT: Corpus of Electronic Texts

Text has been proof-read twice.

The electronic text represents the edited text. The ae ligature (with or without fada) has been rendered ae; f with overdot dot has been rendered fh in the electronic text. In the English translation, wth was expanded in the electronic text.

There are no quotations.

There is no hyphenation.

div0=the group of poems; div1=the individual poem. Stanzas are marked lg; and metrical lines l. Line-breaks are marked lb.

Names are not tagged, nor are terms for cultural and social roles.

 By an unknown Irish poet. c. 1650 to 1659 The first poem is in Classical Modern Irish, but the spelling is faulty. The first translation is in seventeenth-century English. The second translation is in Neolatin. Thurneysen's introduction and two footnotes are in French. poetry 17c lament political translation Ireland 2016-02-12 Beatrix Färber ed. Minor update made. 2008-08-24 Beatrix Färber ed. File proofed (2); file parsed. SGML and HTML files created. 2009-08-22 Beatrix Färber ed. Whole file proofed (1), header inserted. 2009-08-21 Beatrix Färber data capture/ed. Introduction and Irish poem typed in and encoded. 2009-08-18 Miriam Trojer data capture/ed. English and Latin text typed in and encoded.
La Lamentation d'Irlande

Le manuscrit irlandais de la bibliothèque de Goettingue, noté Cod. Ms. hist. 773, est du XVIIe siècle. Une copie de l'histoire irlandaise par Keating est signée par Antoine O'Conor, franciscain au Collège irlandais de Prague en Bohème, en 1659 (p. 108v). Il contient, en outre, plusiers poésies, religieuses et autres, la plupart composées par des franciscains. Quelques-unes ont été inspirées par la persécution et l'oppression des Irlandais catholiques aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles. J'en voudrais présenter aux lecteurs de cette revue celle qui porte le titre: Lamentation de l'Irlande. James Carthún, franciscain, l'a chantée dans sa captivité. Elle est suivie d'une traduction en vers anglais, pas mal tournés, et d'une autre en distiques latins, qui sont moins bien réussis. Elle se distingue des autres poésies sur le même thème moins par le fond que par la forme. En effet, la plupart des poèmes contenus dans le manuscrit suivent les anciennes règles de la versification irlandaise: les vers ont le même nombre de syllabes (du moins pour leœil); les rimes, l'allitération, tout est conforme aux lois que donne, par exemple, encore O'Molloy dans sa Grammatica Latino-Hibernica (en 1677). Dans notre poème, au contraire, le nombre des syllabes est des plus variables. Au lieu de la rime irlandaise nous y trouvons l'assonance purement vocalique, qui, de plus, ne tient aucun compte de l'orthographe. Dans la plupart des vers, la dernière voyelle accentuée est un e long, écrit é éi éa éu ae. Seulement les vers 90-108 assonnent en a bref, écrit a ai ea. Nous assistons donc à l'irruption d'un nouveau système de poésie, où la prononciation moderne entre dans son droit. Grâce aux deux traductions assez fidèles, le texte irlandais est en général très facile à comprendre, malgré son orthographe un peu barbare. Poutrant il reste quelques mots et quelques passages que je ne comprends pas; ce sont: haighe au vers 34, gan cháigh 39, amhnan 49, ainnis 60, le ghaothuigheadh na céata 62, sinnfighe 86, carúscadh 118 et le vers 120. Un lecteur irlandais n'aura sans doute pas de peine à m'éclairer sur ces points. Voici le texte, qui ne me paraît pas denué de force.

 Déorchaóineadh na hEírionn Gan bhrígh, faraór, ata mo chéatfa, Ata mo spiorad adul sna héaga; Atáid mo shúile na muir theachta, Siád mo dheora mo chothugha laethuil. Nil ann mo bheatha acht annró a neíniocht. Ta mo chroidhe bocht da reabadh, Stáid mo smaóinte do mo ghéurghoin, Ag caóidh go cráite staid na hEírionn, Gan sógh na sult ag eínnach Dá rugadh riámh ar chlár Eímhir. Ag so dhuitsi mo sgéulsa, Re nairistir gach fuighiol a heachta. Do cháillsi a puimp sa stat a néiniocht. Do dibreadh tar farrige a treínfhir. Ataid a teampla mar barr peine Gan altoir, gan aiffrionn, gan sleachtuin, Na stabluighe each, is truáilligh an sgeulso, No gan cloch dá clochuibh re cheíle. O bhí clann Isráel san Eíghipt Faoi bhruid sfaói dhaóirse a neíniocht, Nir sgrióbadh a leabhar sni fhacuigh éinneach Annro mar annro na hEírionn. Do díbreadh uáinn aódhuirighe an tréada. Sinn an tréad seachranach, creachtach O madruighe allta bheith dár léubairt, Sgan ar leighios ar láimh éinneich. Mar bhfhéacha Día ar ar neigion, Sdimhin go brach cur cailliodh Eire. Furtuig sinn, a tigheárna an tréineirt, Do bheir buaidh ar shluaite d'einnfhear. Toig du sgíursa do shíol Eímhir. Cneasuigh ar gcneadhthach redo créachtaibh, Sna doirt oruin thfhearg a néiniocht; Ni dheanam coirteadh haighe dá eised. Is iongnadh re óighibh n hEírionn Balluighe a mainistreach do bheith réabthadh, A ngeanamnuigheacht fein ar na treigean Is drúis na háit ag dul a néifeacht. Nil aódhbuirt gan cháigh a neínteach; Tombuighe briste sculuigheacha cleíre Sgach dísleacht eile do bhi a nEírinn. A nísligh bhrigh do chúaidh mo léansa. Gach seanlaóch, gach leanabán, gach treínfhear, Ar nógáinaigh sar mbantracht phéacach Caóianach, gioránach, éagnach, Dul faói ghallsmacht no ar farruige ar eigin. Ar nduthuigh dhílios gan toradh déise, Gan mhaóin, gan eallach acht féur léirglas. Taid ar ndíolleachta amhnan tréalag. Do shiubhail gort is plaigh ar Eíre Sgach sgiursa eile dar bhfhéidir; Ni hairistear fós fuighioll a peíne. Gidheadh, faraór mór'Mór' est écrit au-dessus de la ligne; la lettre 'r' n'est pas sûre. Je ne sais pas si on dit en irlandais: 'faraór mór'., is léar dhamh Go bhfhuil bogha fós an aírdrigh gléasda Sa bholgán saighiod faoí shaighdibh géara, Gach saighiod diobh ar ti ar ngéarghoin O bhunn ar ccos go clár ar néaduin, Ag lot ar gcraoithe sa reabadh ar bfheítheach; Nil ball dar mballuibh nach bhfuil creachtach. Dimidh a nainnis oruin a néinfheacht. An bocht san saibhir, an fann san treínfhear, An tighíarna le ghaothuigheadh na céata, An calma neartfur sfear a cheachta, Ta túaith is eagluis faói éanghoín, Sa chroich ar ghúaluinn gach éinfhir. Ni haithne dhamhsa ni faóin speirsi Ta fabharthach, cairdeach lis na Gaedhluibh, Acht an farruige amháin ar eígin No an ghaóth do sheolus go reuphort Luingis ler tturas as Eírinn. Se fath fós bfuilidso reidh linn, Mar mhéadmid an muir ler ar ndéaradh, San ghaoth seachranach leir neímheadh. Ni fhaicmíd na flaithemhnuis reidh linn; Ni chluinmíd ar ngearan dá eísdeacht. Ta an talamh tar eís ar dtréicthidh San choill do bheir didion don éanlaith, Gach aill, gach úaidh sgach barr sléibhe, Gach cnoc, gach loc sgach léuna. Ta'r gcorudh gan guth cleíre, Gan inte acht mna ag eímhghe, Ag tarruing a bhfholt le saóbh céille L. le saóbhcheill? Ag caoine go craite dheiridh na Feine. Ta feadaín ar norgán réabtha; Do chaill ar gclairseach a crann gleasta Le sinnfighe cumuigh na hEírionn. No go bfille tar farruige na tréinfhir, Nil furtacht aguin acht léurghul, Sgreadach, bualabas no éimhghe. Ni neart sluaigh, ni hearbuidh beatha, Ni marcshluagh gall dar ghluáis o Bhreatuin, Ni clíth cumuis, ni díth spracuid Do chuir sluáite na hEirionn cum ratha Sdo chuir tromdháimh mhór ann a mbailte, Faraor, faraór! acht méad a bpeacaidh. Siud sinn anois ann sa teallach Ann a bhfheachtar gach miotal bradach, Ghlanas an tór ó gach salach. Sfiór dan Sgríoptuir gach ni da nabuir: A deir gurb anró leighios ar ngalair; Le aithrighe gheabhuimne maithfeachas Is aisiog ann gach ni dar cailleadh. Ag so sios suim ar bpeacuidh: Leatrom na mbocht, goid is bradúil, Moide mora ar leath taca, Ar nanam do thabhairt don fhear is measa, Ba treise ar núabhar na ar mbeatha, Ba treise ar bhfhiacha na ar dtacar. Le treatúireacht do caille Eíre Slé mírún na bfear da chéile. Ni raibh breitheamh do bhéuradh eísdeacht Do lucht leatruim, anam a neígin; Deoránuigh is baintreabhachadh ag eimhghe Gan ceart, gan smacht dá dhéanadh. Ni rabhamar a ríamh a luib a cheile, Acht bo faoí cheangal is bo faoi reiteach; Nir frith umlacht choir o aeneach. Carúscadh ag ceannfurt na hEireann. Anuair bhi naimhdibh ag dheanamh feadhma, Totáil anam abheith ghleasda, Ceannairge nar bhfhuras do réiteach, Cuid a deise aig a bfear is treine. Is fada riam le horchóid Eíre; Is mar so criochnaigheadh cogadh na nGaeluibh. Fillmuíd anois is athruighiom béusa, Deanmuid aithrighe nar bpeacuidh a néinfheacht. Smar so tanicc Israéil on Eíghipt, O thigh na daoírse is o gach eígionn. Maitheadh do Niniue gach a ndéurnaigh, Is fos do Peadar Xp. do shéanadh. A naoimh na hEírionn, eírgidh go leír nois. A Phadruicc, budh lér beanuighe a treadso. Siúd sinn díbeartha, siúd sinn treígthidh; An smearóid múchtaidh, sgan tú dá seídeadh. An trom do cholladh no an mall theisdeacht, Nach dtugann tu toradh ar eíneach? Mosgail tráth, na bíodh mar sgeul ort Nach bfuil furtacht a ndan do Ghaeluibh. Síud, a Phadruicc, mfhíarrán feín leat, Go nabruid naimhde na cleire Nach bhfhuil agud cluás le heísdeacht, Snaib goillionn gearan na nGael ort; Sda ngoilleadh, nach bhfhuighdis éura. Gideadh bi linn sbi le treíneart, Sbiadh slan ar namhad go brach fa Eíre. IRLANDS LAMENTATION My sense benummd, my spirits dead, I swimme in seas of griefe; My tears are made my dayly bread, affliction is my life. My heart doth groane, my thoughts bemoan poor Irlands ruefull state; Noe earthly joy doth shee injoy: such is her cursed fate. Her pomp and state reducd' to naught, her chieftains all exild'; The ruins of her churches mourne polluted and defild'. Since Israel a thrall befell unto her cruell foes, Could any see such misery? Noe tongue can tell our woes. Our pastours fled, the flock disusd', and none to feed but Thou. The wolves devoure and slaughter all. Come, come! redeeme us now. Containe, o God, thy smarting rod, or else wee all decaye. Come, cure with speed our wounds that bleed; they wrath, o Lord, allay. Our Vestalls stand amazd to see their cloysters all defacd' And lechery usurping roome, where chastity was placd'. Noe sacrifice or edifice unspotted doth appeere. Our monuments and ornaments destroyed, and what is deere. Our aged folke, our women, maydes, our youths are captives made, Our wealth consumd, our orphans starve and wither in the blade. Our lands are wast, and none doe tast the fruit thereof with joy. Plague, famine, warre gave us a scarre and all that could annoy. And yett, o Lord, they bow is bent; they arrowes pierce our heart. From top to toe noe place is sound, each limme hath felt a smart. The rich, the poore, the lord, the boore, the weake, the stout, the strong, The church, the state, and all of late, doe beare their crosse along. The sea alone doth favour us, as feeleing some increase By our sad teares that drop to her; our sighes with wind made peace. The heavens seeme not to redeeme our woes, denyeing aide; The rockes and denns, the woods and fennes to shade us are affrayd'. Our quire is mute, our organs dumbe, our notes both shrill and sharpe; Our instruments noe consort keepe, for sorrow tunes our harpe. Untill againe our men from Spaine unto soyle returne, In endlesse griefe without reliefe wee'il never cease to mourne. Thy sinnes, poore Irland, wrought thy woe; affliction is they cure, The fire whereof consumd' thy drosse, I hope, and made thee pure Repent, repent! God will relent and save thee in the end And deale with thee in piety, thy faults if thou amend. These were thy hideous, monstrous sinnes: oppression, rapine, stealth; Thy pride exceeded farre thy strength; thy score surpassd' thy wealth. Thy treacherous heart increasd' thy smart, unto thee selfe untrue. Unjustice crept, thy widdowes wept and orphans weake did rue. Noe law could yett unite our hearts; obedient none was found; All power contemnd', noe orders kept; confusion walkd' the round. Thy riotous life, contention, strife intestine broyles and jarres, Hath made thy state unfortunate: thus ended Irlands warres. Repent, repent! Returne, returne againe unto thy God! Lament with teares thy sinfull dayes, and Hee will spare the rod. O Lord of hoastes, accept our votes! From dust thy people rayse! And wee will tell like Israel thy wonders, sing the prayse. Awake, awake, yee Irish saints! O patrons, now arrise! Lett faythlesse know your power with God, give ears unto our cryes! Such as deny and doe defye your favours, beare the sway; And wee that pray to you each day, are banishd' all away. Recall, o Lord, our pastours backe; give us true charity; Confirme us in they heavenly grace; give hope, o Deity; If Thou forgive, then wee shall live; if dead? Thou wilt revive. If God for us and man gainst us, all our affayres shall thrive!— finis. LAMENTATIO HIBERNIAE Languidus emorior; lachrymosas curro per undas, Pascor et ex lachrimis; fit mihi vita dolor. Corde dolorifero mea mens deplorat Iernam, Cujus ab exitio gaudia nulla beant. Proscripti proceres, pompa et praeciosa sepulta Sacrilega lugent diruta diva manu. Post casus Iakob, post tristia fata Judaeae Nullibi par nostris luctua lingua legit. Grex sine pastore est, sine pastu. Pastor es unus, Christe; venito, juva! sternimur ore lupi. Parcito jam virgis; dura est qua cedimur ira. Curre, veni, sana vulnera, et ira ruat. En modo sacra videt prophanari Vesta, tremiscens, Virgineos Veneris dum videt esse thoros. Squalida cuncta patent tetris maculata ruinis; Quae fuerant praetii, trita rejecta jacent. Vir, mulier, faemella, senex, captiva juventus, Infantes et opes jam periere simul. Terra jacet sterilis; nulli dant gaudia messes; Bella, fames, pestis, quicquid et extat, obest. Siccine, Christe, tuis pharetris penetramur et arcu, Undique dum telis corpora nostra rubent. Dives, inops, dominus, ruralis, fortis et aeger, Clerus cum populo, portat uterque crucem. Sola favent pelagus, quia nostris fletibus undans, Et ventus, nostra voce ululante fremens. Caetera bella movent: caelum subsidia traxit; Saxa negant latebras, silva paludis opem. Obmutuere chori; notulis resonamus acutis; Organa nostra silent; cythara maesta canit. Sic sine fine dolor, sine spe tristitia, donec Ex Iberi redeat tristis et exul Hiber. Haec ipsi tulimus nobis, mala nostra tulerunt, Quae nunc expurgat justus in igne deus. Verte, reverte Syon! Pietas miserebitur olim, Si tua contrito crimina corde fleas. Haec tua culpa fuit: furtum, violentia, raptus Et praeter vires luxus inanis opum. Tu tibi crudelis, tibi perfida, Banva rebellis, Dum flerent viduae cum minorenne jugum. Nullus erat redamantis amans, nulla unio rerum; Lex sine lege gemens; undique triste chaos. Prodiga vita fuit, bella intestina, tumultus: Finis et his nostris Mars, sua bella malis. Verte, reverte Syon! Tandem tua crimina plangas: Et feret auxilium, qui tulit ante plagas. Suspice vota, deus, de pulvere fusa tuorum. Ut semel ex nostris gloria vestra sonet, Surgite Hibernigenum divi, vigilate patroni; Perfida mens videat qua valeatis ope. Triste lacessentes sanctorum numina vincunt, Et nos sancticolo vincimur usque modo. Christe, juva, gregem revoca, sucurre colenti, Et semel emergant spes, amor atque fides. Si tu condones, vivet; vita esto sepulta: Si tu pro nobis, mox redivivet Hiber. Finis. 24 October 1892. R. Thurneysen.