Spiritual seasons.
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What would you do if the kettle boiled over? What would I do but to fill it again What would you do if the cows eat the clover? What would I do but to set it again The praties are dug and the frost is all over Kitty lie over close to the wall How would you like to be married to a solider? Kitty lie over close to the wall What would you do if you married a solider? What would I do only follow his gun What would you do if he died on the ocean? What would I do only marry again The praties all boil and the herrings are roasted Kitty lie over close to the wall You to be drunk and I to be sober Kitty lie over close to the wall What would you do if the kettle boiled over? What would I do but to fill it again What would you do if the cows eat the clover? What would I do but to set it again The praties are dug and the frost is all over Kitty lie over close to the wall How would you like to be married to a solider? Kitty lie over close to the wall

As down the glen one Easter morn To a city fair rode I, Their armed lines of marching men In squadrons passed me by. No pipe did hum, no battle drum Did sound its loud tattoo But the Angelus' bells o'er the Liffey swells Rang out in the foggy dew. Right proudly high in Dublin town Hung they out a flag of war. It was better to die beneath an Irish sky Then at Suvla or Sud el Bar. And from the plains of Royal Meath Strong men came hurrying through; While Brittania's Huns with their long-range guns Sailed in through the foggy dew. 'Twas England bade our wild geese go, that «small nations might be free»; Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North Sea. Oh, had they died by Pearse’s side or fought with Cathal Brugha Their graves we’d keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew. The bravest fell, and the requiem bell Rang mournfully and clear For those who died that Easter-tide In the springing of the year. While the world did gaze with deep amaze At those fearless men but few Who bore the fight that freedom's light Might shine through the foggy dew. And back through the glen I rode again And my heart with grief was sore For I parted then with valiant men Whom I never shall see more But to and fro In my dreams I go And I kneel and pray for you For slavery fled Oh, glorious dead When you fell in the foggy dew.

As down the glen one Easter morn To a city fair rode I, Their armed lines of marching men In squadrons passed me by. No pipe did hum, no battle drum Did sound its loud tattoo But the Angelus' bells o'er the Liffey swells Rang out in the foggy dew. Right proudly high in Dublin town Hung they out a flag of war. It was better to die beneath an Irish sky Then at Suvla or Sud el Bar. And from the plains of Royal Meath Strong men came hurrying through; While Brittania's Huns with their long-range guns Sailed in through the foggy dew. 'Twas England bade our wild geese go, that «small nations might be free»; Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North Sea. Oh, had they died by Pearse’s side or fought with Cathal Brugha Their graves we’d keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew. The bravest fell, and the requiem bell Rang mournfully and clear For those who died that Easter-tide In the springing of the year. While the world did gaze with deep amaze At those fearless men but few Who bore the fight that freedom's light Might shine through the foggy dew. And back through the glen I rode again And my heart with grief was sore For I parted then with valiant men Whom I never shall see more But to and fro In my dreams I go And I kneel and pray for you For slavery fled Oh, glorious dead When you fell in the foggy dew.

Villemann gjekk seg te storan å, Hei fagraste lindelauvi alle Der han ville gullharpa slå For de runerne de lyster han å vinne. Villemann gjenge for straumen å stå, Mesterleg kunne han gullharpa slå. Han leika med lente, han leika med list, Og fugelen tagna på grønande kvist. Han leika med lente, han leika med gny, Han leika Magnhild av nykkens arm. Men då steig trolli upp or djupaste sjø, Det gjalla i berg og det runga i sky. Då slo han si harpe til bonns i sin harm, Og utvinner krafti av trollenes arm. ------------------------------------------------ Филлеман шёл к реке - К самой красивой липе Там хотел он поиграть на золотой арфе - Потому что руны обещали ему удачу Филлеман обходил течение реки Мастерски мог он на золотой арфе играть Он играл на ней нежно, он играл на ней хитро И птица была тиха на зелёном дереве Он играл на ней нежно, он играл на ней громко Он пел о Магнхилд, свободной от рук тролля Потом поднялся тролль из глубин озера Он громыхал в горах и грохотал в облаках Тут разбил он арфу со всей своей силой И отнял так у тролля его силу и мощь. (боевая походная песня норвежских викингов, XI в.)

Филлеман шёл к реке - К самой красивой липе Там хотел он поиграть на золотой арфе - Потому что руны обещали ему удачу Филлеман обходил течение реки Мастерски мог он на золотой арфе играть Он играл на ней нежно, он играл на ней хитро И птица была тиха на зелёном дереве Он играл на ней нежно, он играл на ней громко Он играл Магнхилд, свободный от рук троля Потом поднялся троль из глубин озера Он громыхал в горах и грохотал в облаках Тут разбил он арфу со всей своей силой И отнял так у троля его силу и мощь ------------------------------------------------ Villemann gjekk seg te storan ĺ, Hei fagraste lindelauvi alle Der han ville gullharpa slĺ For de runerne de lyster han ĺ vinne Villemann gjenge for straumen ĺ stĺ, Mesterleg kunne han gullharpa slĺ Han leika med lente, han leika med list, Og fugelen tagna pĺ grřnande kvist Han leika med lente, han leika med gny, Han leika Magnhild av nykkens arm Men dĺ steig trolli upp or djupaste sjř, Det gjalla i berg og det runga i sky Dĺ slo han si harpe til bonns i sin harm, Og utvinner krafti av trollenes arm.

Near Banbridge Town, in the County Down One morning in July, Down the boreen came a sweet colleen, And she smiled as she passed me by; Oh, she looked so neat from her two bare feet To the crown of her nut-brown hair, Such a winsome elf, I pinched myself To be sure I was really there Chorus: Oh, from Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay, And from Galway to Dublin town, No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen That I met in the County Down. As she onward sped I shook my head And I gazed with a feeling rare, And I said, says I, to a passer-by, "Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?" Oh, he smiled at me, and with pride says he, "That's the gem of all Ireland's crown, Young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann, She's the Star of the County Down." At the harvest fair I'll be surely there And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes With my shoes shined bright and my hat just right Win the heart of the nut-brown Rose. No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke And my plow will rust and brown, Till a smiling bride by my own fireside Sits the Star of the County Down..

Oh, me name is Mick McGuire and I'll quickly tell to you Of a young girl I admired called Katy Donahue She was fair and fat and forty and believe me when I say That whenever I came in at the door you could hear her mammy say: "Johnny, get up from the fire, get up and give the man a sate Can't you see it's Mr McGuire and he's courting your sister Kate Ah, you know very well he owns a farm a wee bit out of the town Arragh, get up out of that, you impudent brat, and let Mr McGuire sit down" Now, the first time that I met her was at a dance at Tarmagee And I very kindly asked her if she'd dance a step with me Then I asked if I could see her home if I'd be going her way And whenever I come in at the door you could hear her mammy say: "Johnny, get up from the fire, get up and give the man a sate Can't you see it's Mr McGuire and he's courting your sister Kate Ah, you know very well he owns a farm a wee bit out of the town Arragh, get up out of that, you impudent brat, and let Mr McGuire sit down" Ah, but now that we are married, sure her mother's changed her mind Just because I spent the legacy her father left behind She hasn't got the decency to bid me time of day Now whenever I come in at the door you'd hear the old one say: "Johnny, come up to the fire, come up, you're sitting in the draft Can't you see it's old McGuire and he nearly drives me daft Ah, I don't know what gets into him, for he's always on the tare Arragh, just sit where you are and never you dare to give old McGuire the chair" Diddle e dowdle-owdle-owdle diddle e dowdle-owdle-ow Diddle e dowdle-owdle-owdle diddle e dowdle-owdle-ow "Ah, I don't know what gets into him, for he's always on the tare Arragh, just sit where you are and never you dare to give old McGuire the chair"

In the merry month of June from me home I started, Left the girls of Tuam so sad and broken hearted, Saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother, Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother, Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born, Cut a stout black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins; Bought a pair of brogues rattling o'er the bogs And fright'ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin. One, two, three four, five, Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah ! In Mullingar that night I rested limbs so weary, Started by daylight next morning blithe and early, Took a drop of pure to keep me heart from sinking; Thats a Paddy's cure whenever he's on drinking. See the lassies smile, laughing all the while At me curious style, 'twould set your heart a bubblin' Asked me was I hired, wages I required, I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin. One, two, three four, five, Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah ! In Dublin next arrived, I thought it be a pity To be soon deprived a view of that fine city. So then I took a stroll, all among the quality; Me bundle it was stole, all in a neat locality. Something crossed me mind, when I looked behind, No bundle could I find upon me stick a wobblin' Enquiring for the rogue, they said me Connaught brogue Wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin. One, two, three four, five, Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah ! >From there I got away, me spirits never falling, Landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailing. The Captain at me roared, said that no room had he; When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy. Down among the pigs, played some hearty rigs, Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubbling; When off Holyhead wished meself was dead, Or better for instead on the rocky road to Dublin. One, two, three four, five, Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah ! Well the boys of Liverpool, when we safely landed, Called meself a fool, I could no longer stand it. Blood began to boil, temper I was losing; Poor old Erin's Isle they began abusing. "Hurrah me soul" says I, me Shillelagh I let fly. Some Galway boys were nigh and saw I was a hobble in, With a load "hurray !" joined in the affray. We quitely cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin. One, two, three four, five, Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !

Skjøn jomfru gikk på høyen fjeld, så ned i den dype dal. der så hun et skip kom seilende, kom seilende tre grever var ombord. Den alle yngste greven som der på skipet var, han ville seg trolova, trolova, med meg så ung jeg var. Så tok han frem av fingeren sin en ring av gull så rød. så sagde han, skjøn pike, skjøn pike, den vill jeg giva deg. Da ungersvenden var bortreist kom der en annen igjen. som hennes hjerte behagede, behagede. og de kom så vel overens. Da ungersvenden dette fikk vite stor kummer i hjertet han fikk. han skiftede om sine kleder, sine kleder, og reiste dit bryllupet stod.

Junfrun hon skulle sig åt stugan gå Linden darra i lunden Så tog hon den vägen åt skogen blå Ty hon var vid älskogen bunden Och när som hon kon till skogen blå Där mötle henne en ulv så grå Kära ulver du bit inte mig Dig vill jag giva min silversärk Silversärk jag passar ej på Ditt unga liv och blod måst gå Kära du ulver bit inte mig Dig vill jag giva min silversko Silversko jag passar ej på Ditt unga liv och blod måst gå Kära du ulver du bit inte mig Dig vill jag giva min guldkrona Guldkrona jag passar ej på Ditt unga liv och blod måst gå Jungfrun hon steg sig så högt i ek Och ulven han gick ner på backen och skrek Ulven han grafte den ek till rot Jungfrun gav upp ett så hiskeligt rop Och ungersven han sadlar sin gångare grå Han red litet fortare än fågeln flög Och när som han kom till platsen fram Så fann han ej mer än en blodiger arm Gud trösta Gud bättra mig ungersven Linden darra i lunden Min jungfru är borta min häst är förränd Ty hon var vid älskogen bunden Девушка припозднилась домой, Липы трепещут в чаще И выбрала путь через лес прямой. Дитя под сердцем несчастной. Только зашла она в лес густой, Вышел огромный волк из кустов. "Милый волк, меня пощади – Серебром расшитый мой плащ возьми!" "Плащ твой волку не по плечу – Кровь молодую пустить хочу!" "Милый волк, меня пощади – Сапожки сафьянные мои возьми!" "Сапогов-то я не ношу – Кровь молодую твою пущу!" "Милый волк, меня пощади – Венец золотой за меня возьми!" "Твой венец волку ни к чему – Жизнь молодую твою возьму!" Дева забралась на высокий сук, Волк стал рычать и ходить вокруг. Корни у дуба волк перегрыз – Вскрикнув, дева упала вниз. Рыцарь коня оседлал стремглав И в темный лес полетел, как стрела. Когда ж он к чаще лесной прискакал – Лишь руку любимой он отыскал. "Ах, сохрани и спаси нас Бог! Липы трепещут в чаще "Невеста погибла, мой конь издох." Дитя под сердцем несчастной.

Bittida en morgon innan solen upprann Innan foglarna borjade sjunga Bergatroliet friade till fager ungersven Hon hade en falskeliger tunga :Herr Mannelig herr Mannelig trolofven i mig For det jag bjuder sa gerna I kunnen val svara endast ja eller nej Om i viljen eller ej: Eder vill jag gifva de gangare tolf Som ga uti rosendelunde Aldrig har det varit nagon sadel uppa dem Ej heller betsel uti munnen :Herr Mannelig herr Mannelig trolofven i mig For det jag bjuder sa gerna I kunnen val svara endast ja eller nej Om i viljen eller ej: Eder vill jag gifva de qvarnarna tolf Som sta mellan Tillo och Terno Stenarna de aro af rodaste gull Och hjulen silfverbeslagna Sadana gafvor toge jag val emot On du vore en kristelig qvinna Men nu sa ar du det varsta bergatroll Af Neckens och djavulens stamma :Herr Mannelig herr Mannelig trolofven i mig For det jag bjuder sa gerna I kunnen val svara endast ja eller nej Om i viljen eller ej: Bergatrollet ut pa dorren sprang Hon rister och jamrar sig svara Hade jag fatt den fager ungersven Sa hade jag mistat min plaga :Herr Mannelig herr Mannelig trolofven i mig For det jag bjuder sa gerna I kunnen val svara endast ja eller nej Om i viljen eller nej: (4 x)

Тревожный сон меня терзал, уставшего за день. Всю ночь и вечер я летал, парил на высоте С ветрами вместе над холмом знакомым и родным Где мать, отец и дом родной и крест стоит в пыли. Я у креста теперь стою, кругом шумит толпа. Июньский день идёт к концу и ярмарка пуста. Старик седой и молодёжь смеются и поют. И на широкий вольный холм дары свои несут. Кругом соседи, ребятня, родня и отчий дом. Смотрю на камень близ себя и верится с трудом. Лежит он здесь с полтыщи лет, привык к дождям и ветрам. Широкий холм его хранит, не даст забыть и нам. Но мой полёт не просто так свершился в эту ночь В награду камень мне послал земли ирланской дочь. Она как лилия бела, голубкой чистой как снег. Источник teksty-pesenok.ru Из тени камня приплыла с оружием в руке. И бросив меч к моим ногам сколнилась мне на грудь. "О милый Джонни, я тебя по прежнему люблю!" Уж я её любил, ласкал на зависть всем в эту ночь. Цветок холмов, мою любовь, камней ирландских дочь. И я и Нед слились в одно не помня ни о чём Очнувшись тихо застонал я с криком петухов Открыл глаза- о боже мой! Но где же милая Нед? Я в Калифорнии друзья- холмов в помине нет.

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