Caoineadh na dTrí Muire (1)

Play recording: Caoineadh na dTrí Muire (1)

Well, Good Friday, you see, was a time that, when I was growing up a little boy, our grandmother, who… had a fantastic way of… doing the lament, and she used to really do the lament, and gather us around her. And not a murmur would be out of us until she finished the Passion of Christ right from the cross, when Peter was standing there, and the Blessed Virgin came up to Peter and she said, ‘Who is that man on the cross of passion?’ And Peter said, ‘Don’t you recognize your own son, Mother?’ And then she said, ‘Is that the son that I carried for nine months? Is that the son who was born in the stable? Is that the son I reared on my knees? Oh, child’, she says, ‘your face and mouth is bleeding’.

And then they go on to the streets of Jerusalem. And they lifted her up to get her out of the way, and they threw her down on the bare stones. And… he said, ‘Beat me, but don’t touch my mother!’ And the answer he got back: ‘We’ll crucify you, and beat your mother!’

And then it goes on to tell how Simon, who was such a man, that… he was laughing at him when he started out first, and he took pity on him when he fell with the cross three times, you know, and Simon helped him with the cross, you know, up to Calvary.

And of course, on Calvary, when he was dying, the fourth king — the man who set out on Christmas Eve — gave him a drop of the bottle of water he was carrying. He was a poor king, that’s all he could give him. And he kept the bottle of water for thirty-three years ’til that day, and he gave it to him. And this is how my grandmother used to do it.

‘S a Pheadair, a aspail, an bhfaca tú mo ghrá bán?
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Chonaic mé ar ball é dhá ruaigeadh ag an námhaid.
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Muise, cé hí sin siar a bhfuil a gruaig le fána?
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Muise, cé a bheadh ann mara mbeadh mo mháithrín?
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Muise, cé hé an fear breá atá ar chrann na páise?
Ochón, is ochón ó!
An é nach n-aithníonn tú do mhac, a mháithrín?
Ochón, is ochón ó!
An é sin an maicín a d’iompair mé trí rátha?
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Nó an é sin an maicín a rugadh ins an stábla?
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Nó an é sin an maicín a hoileadh in ucht Mháire?
Ochón, is ochón ó!
A mhicín mhúirneach tá do bhéal is do shróinín gearrtha.
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Is crochadh suas í ar ghuaillí árda
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Is buaileadh anuas í faoi leacrachaí na sráide.
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Muise, buailigí mé féin, ach ná bainidh le mo mháithrín!
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Maróidh muid thú féin, agus buailfidh muid do mháithrín.
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Is cuireadh go cnoc Chealbhraí é ag méadú ar a pháise;
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Bhí se ag iompar na croiche agus Simon lena shála.
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Is cuireadh táirní maola thríra chosa ‘gus a lámha
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Is cuireadh sleá thrína bhrollach alainn.
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Muise éist, a Mháthair, is ná bí cráite
Ochón, is ochón ó!
Tá mná mo chaointe le breith fós, a Mháithrín.
Ochón, is ochón ó!

Translation

[Blessed Virgin] ‘Peter, apostle, have you seen my fair love?’
[Peter] ‘I saw him just now, being chased by the enemy.’
[Soldier] ‘Who is that going past with her hair in disarray?’
[Jesus] ‘Who would that be only my mother?’
[Blessed Virgin] ‘Indeed, who is that lovely man on the tree of passion?’
[Jesus] ‘How can you not recognize your son, Mother?’
[Blessed Virgin] ‘Is that the son that I carried for three seasons? Is that the son who was born in the stable?’
[Blessed Virgin] ‘Is that the son who was nurtured at Mary’s breast?
Oh my darling little son, your mouth and little nose are cut.’
She was raised up on high shoulders
And cast down onto the flagstones of the street.
[Jesus] ‘Beat me, but don’t touch my mother!’
[Soldier] ‘We’ll kill you, and we’ll beat your mother!’
And he was taken to the hill of Calvary, to increase his passion.
He was carrying the cross, and Simon at his heels.
Blunt nails were driven through his feet and hands
And a spear through his lovely breast.
[Jesus] ‘Listen, Mother, and don’t be tormented
the women who will mourn for me me have yet to be born.’