Seathan Son of the King of Ireland

Trans: Alexander Carmichael: Carmina Gadelica

Seathan Son of the King of Ireland

Woe to him who heard of it but did not tell it,

         hu run a hur I bhi o

woe to him who heard of it but did not tell it,

         na bhi hao bho hao bhi o an

that my darlining was in Minginish;

if thou wert, my love, thou hadst returned long since;

I would send a great ship to seek him there,

With a famed crew, fresh and bright and expert,

young men and lads would be there,

he would visit here when he returned,

I would spend a festal day dallying with him,

I would sit on a knoll and engage in sweet converse,

I would curl thy hair as I did oft times,

I would lie in thy arms and keep the dew from thee,

I would wash a fine-spun shirt full white for thee,

so long as any water remained in the pool,

and I would dry it on a moorland branch.

But Seathan tonight is a corse,

a sad tale to the men of Scotland,

a grievous tale to his followers,

a joyous tale to his pursuers,

to the son of the Hag of the Three Thorns.

Dear Seathan of the tranquil eyes,

oft did thou redden the hillocks:

it was not with the blood of cattle or horses,

or the blood of the swift deer,

or the blood of the roe in a nook of the corn-field,

but the blood of thine enemy bent on strangling thee.

When I thought thou wast in Galway (?),

thou wast dead without a breath,

borne on the shoulders of scornful (?) men,

and as cold as the mountain snow.

My love thy right hand, though now cold,

oft did I have it, seldom was it away from me,

oft did I have a present from it,

and never with aught that was mean,

it was with a stick or cudgel,

it was not with abuse or quarrelling,

but with green satin and fine silk,

with the noblest of gifts.

O brown-haired Seathan, calf of my love,

I would go far away with thee, my love,

I would go with thee through the branchy wood

where the birds are wont to warble,

I would cross the Irish Sea with thee

where the swelling ocean surges,

I would cross the sea of Greece with thee,

the haunt of swarthy corsairs.

I and Seathan traversing mountains,

I was weak, but Seathan  was strong,

I could endure but little clothing,

a russet coat to the middle of my thigh,

a kerchief of pure-white linen,

as I fared with my darling Seathan.

O Seathan, Seathan, bereft of life,

own son to my king from Tyrconnel,

oft have I lain beneath thy cloak;

if I did, it was not in a homestead,

but in a green hollow of a tree-sheltered field,

under the slope of the rugged blue peaks,

the wind from the mountains sweeping over us,

the wind from the glens with a sough taking

its fill of the first burgeoning of spring.

Many a glen and ben we traversed,

I was in Islay and Uist with thee,

I was in Sleat of the yellow-haired women with thee,

I was in Iona of the nuns with thee,

I was in the land of birds and eggs with thee,

I was in Ireland, I was in Latium with thee,

I traversed Brittany and Burgundy,

I traversed the Continent and the Mearns with thee,

I traversed the Boyne, I traversed Munster with thee,

I heard mass in Cill Chumha with thee,

I heard the music of the fairy-mansions with thee,

I drank a draught of the well of wandering with thee,

I was the day before yesterday and last year with thee,

I was from cape to cape with thee,

I was in Kildonan of the pines with thee,

I was three years on the hills with thee.

I kept watch for a day in the treetops with thee,

I kept watch for two days in the sea wrack with thee,

I kept watch for night on a sea rock with thee,

I kept watch, my love, and I did not regret it,

wrapped in a corner of thy tartan plaid,

the spindrift ever breaking over us,

water that is very pure, cool, and wholesome.

My love is Seathan of the tranquil eyes,

 I would lie with thee on an uneasy bed,

a bed of heather with my side of stones;

dearer Seathan in a coil of heather rope

than a king’s son on a bed of linen;

dearer Seathan behind a dyke

than a king’s son in silks on a deal flooring,

though he should have a restful bed

which had been well-planed by wrights,

and protected by the power of druids;

dearer Seathan in the birch wood

than to be in Magh Meall with Airril,

though he be had satin and silk unmder his feet,

and pillows lustrous with red gold.

If Seathan were seen as he arose

in shade of hill on a May morning,

a short kilt to the middle of his thigh,

a narrow black belt about his tunic,

his foster-mother’s love, his wife’s darling,

the sight seven times dearest to his own mother,

a secret lover he is to me.

O brown-haired Seathan thou gentle hero,

small is the place in which I would put thee,

I would put thee on the very top of my head,

I would put thee between my breasts,

between Bride and her soft kerchief,

between a young maiden and her snood,

between a fair virgin and her silken mantle,

between myself and my shirt of linen.

But Seathan is is in the lonely chamber,

without drinking of cups or goblets,

without drinking of wine from splendid silver tankards,

without drinking of ale with his cronies and gentlemen,

without drinking to music, without kiss from seductive woman,

without music of harp, without listening to melody,

but strait bands on his shoulders,

and looped bands on the bier poles.

I am the sister of Aodh and yellow-haired Brian,

I am a kinswoman of Fionn son of Cumhall,

I am the wife of brown-haired Seathan, the wanderer,

but alas! For those who said I was a joyous wife,

I am a poor, sad, mournful, sorrowful wife,

full of anguish and grief and woe.

My father put me in a distressing place

on that night he made a wedding-feast for me,

Alas, O King! That it were not my lyke-wake,

that the linen shroud had not been cut for me,

that the pine planks had not been polished for me,

that the loops had not been tied on me,

that I had not been hidden in the mould,

for fear I should be alive on earth.

there is many a table where I shall be slighted,

where my teeth will no more chew bread,

where my spoon shall no more draw,

where my knife shall no more cut,

where my fancy shall no more linger.

If Seathan could be but redeemed

the ransom could be got like rushes,

silver could be got like ashes,

gold could be got on the fringe of meadows,

wine could be got like spring water,

beer could be got like a cool verdant stream;

there would not be a goat in rock or stony upland,

there would not be a young she-goat in meadow,

there would not be a sheep on rocky shelf or mountain top,

there would not be cattle on plain or in fold,

there would not pig or cow in pastures;

the salmon would come from the seas,

the trout would come from the river-banks,

the geldings would come from the rushes;

there would not be a black or white-shouldered cow

high or low in the fold,

at the edge of township or in stall,

that I would not send, my love, to redeem thee,

even to my green plaid,

though that should take the one cow from me,

and it was the one black cow of my fold,

but herds of white-shouldered cattle,

of white-headed, white-backed, red-eared cattle.

But Seathan tonight is in the upper town,

neither gold nor tears will win him,

neither music nor drink will tempt him,

neither slaughter nor violence will bring him from his doom,

neither tumult nor force will wake him from his slumber;

and my heart is broken and distraught,

my tears flow like a well,

uneasily I sleep on my pillow,

for thou hast no one who pities thee

save me, running to and fro.

O Seathan dear! O Seathan dear!

I would not give thee to law or king,

I would not give thee to the gentle Mary,

I would not give thee to the Holy Rood,

I would not give thee to Jesus Christ,

I would not, for fear I would not get thee myself.

O Seathan, my brightness of the sun!

Alas! Despite me death has seized thee,

and that has left me sad and tearful,

lamenting bitterly that thou hast gone;

and if all the clerics say is true,

that there is a Hell and a Heaven,

my share of Heaven – it is my welcome to death –

for a night with my darling,

with my spouse, brown-haired Seathan.