Oh, Paddy dear, did you hear
The news that's going round?
The shamrock is forbid by law
To grow on Irish ground!
St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep,
His color can't be seen,
For there's a bloomin' law against
The wearing of the green.
The wearing of the green,
Oh! The wearing of the green.
There's a bloomin' law against
the wearing of the green.
I met with Napper Tandy
And he took me by the hand,
And he said, "How's poor old Ireland
And how does she stand?"
"She's the most distressful country
That ever yet was seen;
They're hanging men and women there
For wearing of the green."
The wearing of the green,
Oh! The wearing of the green.
They're hanging men and women for
the wearing of the green.
Then since the color we must wear
Is England's cruel red,
Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget
The blood that they have shed.
You may take the shamrock from your hat,
And cast it on the sod,
But it'll take root and flourish still,
Tho' under foot it's trod.
The wearing of the green,
Oh! The wearing of the green.
There's a bloomin' law against
the wearing of the green.
When the law can stop the blades of green
From growing as they grow,
And when the leaves in summertime
Their verdue dare not show,
Then I will change the color that I
Wear in my caubeen;
But 'till that day, please God, I'll stick
To wearing of the green.
The wearing of the green,
Oh! The wearing of the green.
'Till that day, please God, I'll stick
To wearing of the green.
The news that's going round?
The shamrock is forbid by law
To grow on Irish ground!
St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep,
His color can't be seen,
For there's a bloomin' law against
The wearing of the green.
The wearing of the green,
Oh! The wearing of the green.
There's a bloomin' law against
the wearing of the green.
I met with Napper Tandy
And he took me by the hand,
And he said, "How's poor old Ireland
And how does she stand?"
"She's the most distressful country
That ever yet was seen;
They're hanging men and women there
For wearing of the green."
The wearing of the green,
Oh! The wearing of the green.
They're hanging men and women for
the wearing of the green.
Then since the color we must wear
Is England's cruel red,
Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget
The blood that they have shed.
You may take the shamrock from your hat,
And cast it on the sod,
But it'll take root and flourish still,
Tho' under foot it's trod.
The wearing of the green,
Oh! The wearing of the green.
There's a bloomin' law against
the wearing of the green.
When the law can stop the blades of green
From growing as they grow,
And when the leaves in summertime
Their verdue dare not show,
Then I will change the color that I
Wear in my caubeen;
But 'till that day, please God, I'll stick
To wearing of the green.
The wearing of the green,
Oh! The wearing of the green.
'Till that day, please God, I'll stick
To wearing of the green.
envoyé par Io non sto con Oriana - 6/6/2009 - 16:52
Langue: anglais
THE WEARING OF THE GREEN
O Paddy dear, an' did ye hear the news that's goin' round?
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground;
St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep, his colour can't be seen,
For there's a cruel law agin the wearin' o' the Green.
I met wid Napper Tandy and he took me by the hand,
And he said, "How's dear ould Ireland, and how does she stand?"
She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen,
For they're hangin' men an' women there for the wearin' o' the Green.
Then since the colour we must wear is England's cruel red,
Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget the blood that they have shed,
You may take a shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod,
It will take root and flourish there though underfoot it's trod.
When law can stop the blades of grass from growin' as they grow,
And when the leaves in summer-time their colour dare not show,
Then will I change the colour, too, I wear in my caubeen
But 'till that day, please God, I'll stick to wearin' o' the Green.
But if at last our colour should be torn from Ireland's heart,
Her sons with shame and sorrow from the dear old isle will part;
I've heard a whisper of a land that lies beyond the sea
Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom's day.
O Erin, must we leave you driven by a tyrant's hand?
Must we ask a mother's blessing from a strange and distant land?
Where the cruel cross of England shall nevermore be seen,
And where, please God, we'll live and die still wearin' o' the green!
O Paddy dear, an' did ye hear the news that's goin' round?
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground;
St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep, his colour can't be seen,
For there's a cruel law agin the wearin' o' the Green.
I met wid Napper Tandy and he took me by the hand,
And he said, "How's dear ould Ireland, and how does she stand?"
She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen,
For they're hangin' men an' women there for the wearin' o' the Green.
Then since the colour we must wear is England's cruel red,
Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget the blood that they have shed,
You may take a shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod,
It will take root and flourish there though underfoot it's trod.
When law can stop the blades of grass from growin' as they grow,
And when the leaves in summer-time their colour dare not show,
Then will I change the colour, too, I wear in my caubeen
But 'till that day, please God, I'll stick to wearin' o' the Green.
But if at last our colour should be torn from Ireland's heart,
Her sons with shame and sorrow from the dear old isle will part;
I've heard a whisper of a land that lies beyond the sea
Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom's day.
O Erin, must we leave you driven by a tyrant's hand?
Must we ask a mother's blessing from a strange and distant land?
Where the cruel cross of England shall nevermore be seen,
And where, please God, we'll live and die still wearin' o' the green!
envoyé par Alessandro - 7/2/2010 - 15:24
Nella sua versione Dion Boucicault aggiunse le ultime due strofe, quelle che fanno riferimento all'emigrazione irlandese negli USA.
La versione originale della canzone è più breve ed è sicuramente analoga a quella postata da 'Io non sto con Oriana', ma bisognerebbe corregere l'ultima strofa: "caubeen" - com'è chiamato il cappello del soldato irlandese - e non "canteen"... sennò non si capisce nulla!
La versione originale della canzone è più breve ed è sicuramente analoga a quella postata da 'Io non sto con Oriana', ma bisognerebbe corregere l'ultima strofa: "caubeen" - com'è chiamato il cappello del soldato irlandese - e non "canteen"... sennò non si capisce nulla!
Alessandro - 7/2/2010 - 19:31
Nel 1865, dopo la sconfitta degli Stati Confederati d'America, sarebbe stata scritta questa Wearing of the grey.
The fearful struggle’s ended now, and peace smiles on our land
And though we’ve yielded, we have proved ourselves a faithful band.
We fought them long, we fought them well, we fought them night and day
And bravely struggled for our rights while wearin’ of the Grey!
And now that we have ceased to fight and pledged our sacred word
That we against the Union’s might no more will draw the sword
We feel despite the sneers of those who never smelled the fray
That we’ve a manly honest right to wearin’ of the Grey.
Our Cause is lost, no more we fight ‘gainst overwhelmin’ power.
All wearied are our limbs and drenched with many a battle shower.
We feign would rest for want of strength and yield them up the day
And lower the flag so proudly borne while wearin’ of the Grey.
Defeat is not dishonor; No, of honor not bereft.
We should thank God that in our breast this priceless boon is left.
And though we weep tis for those braves who stood in proud array
Beneath our flag and nobly died while wearin’ of the Grey.
When in the ranks of war we stood and faced the deadly hail
Our simple suits of Grey composed our only coats of mail.
And on those awful hours that marked the bloody battle day
In memory we will still be seen a wearin’ of the Grey.
Oh, should we reach that glorious place where waits the sparklin’ crown
For everyone who for the right his soldier’s life lay down,
God grant to us the privilege upon that happy day
Of clasping hands with those who fell a wearin’ of the Grey.
The fearful struggle’s ended now, and peace smiles on our land
And though we’ve yielded, we have proved ourselves a faithful band.
We fought them long, we fought them well, we fought them night and day
And bravely struggled for our rights while wearin’ of the Grey!
And now that we have ceased to fight and pledged our sacred word
That we against the Union’s might no more will draw the sword
We feel despite the sneers of those who never smelled the fray
That we’ve a manly honest right to wearin’ of the Grey.
Our Cause is lost, no more we fight ‘gainst overwhelmin’ power.
All wearied are our limbs and drenched with many a battle shower.
We feign would rest for want of strength and yield them up the day
And lower the flag so proudly borne while wearin’ of the Grey.
Defeat is not dishonor; No, of honor not bereft.
We should thank God that in our breast this priceless boon is left.
And though we weep tis for those braves who stood in proud array
Beneath our flag and nobly died while wearin’ of the Grey.
When in the ranks of war we stood and faced the deadly hail
Our simple suits of Grey composed our only coats of mail.
And on those awful hours that marked the bloody battle day
In memory we will still be seen a wearin’ of the Grey.
Oh, should we reach that glorious place where waits the sparklin’ crown
For everyone who for the right his soldier’s life lay down,
God grant to us the privilege upon that happy day
Of clasping hands with those who fell a wearin’ of the Grey.
Io non sto con Oriana - 25/4/2013 - 13:55
Langue: anglais
Versione Wolfe Tones
La canzone è tradizionale probabilmente collocabile alla fine del 1700 e del testo esistono molte varianti, quello che è diventato standard oggi è stato scritto dal dublinese Dion Boucicault nel 1864 per la sua commedia Arragh na Pogue ("The Wicklow Wedding"). La ultime due strofe aggiunte dal commediografo fanno riferimento alla migrazione verso l'America. La melodia è stata attribuita da qualche buontempone a Turlough O'Carolan e ripetuta nel web, ora chi trova la melodia tra questa raccolta completa di O'Carolan vince un tapiro! (vedi)
La canzone è tradizionale probabilmente collocabile alla fine del 1700 e del testo esistono molte varianti, quello che è diventato standard oggi è stato scritto dal dublinese Dion Boucicault nel 1864 per la sua commedia Arragh na Pogue ("The Wicklow Wedding"). La ultime due strofe aggiunte dal commediografo fanno riferimento alla migrazione verso l'America. La melodia è stata attribuita da qualche buontempone a Turlough O'Carolan e ripetuta nel web, ora chi trova la melodia tra questa raccolta completa di O'Carolan vince un tapiro! (vedi)
THE WEARING OF THE GREEN
Oh, Paddy dear and did you hear
The news that's going round?
The shamrock is by law forbid
To grow on Irish ground!
St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep(1),
His color can't be seen,
For they're hanging men and women(2)
For wearing of the green."
I met with Napper Tandy(3)
And he took me by the hand,
And he said, "How's poor old Ireland
And how does she stand?"
"She's the most distressful country
That you ever I have seen;
They're hanging men and women
For wearing of the green."
For the wearing of the green,
Oh! The wearing of the green.
They're hanging men and women(2)
for the wearing of the green.
Then since the color we must wear
Is England's cruel red,
Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget
The blood that they have shed.
You may take the shamrock from your hat,
And cast it on the sod(4),
But it'll take root and flourish there,
Tho' under foot it's trod.
My father loved his country,
and sleeps within her breast,
While I that would have died for her,
may never be so blest;
Those tears my mother shed for me,
how bitter they'd have been
If I had proved a traitor
to "The wearing of the green."
But if, at last, her colors should
be torn from Ireland's heart
Her sons, with shame and sorrow,
from the dear old soil will part;
I've heard whispers of a land
that lies far beyond sea,
Where rich and poor stand equal,
in the light of Freedom's day!
O Erin! must we leave you driven
by the tyrant's hand!
Must we ask a Mother's blessing,
in a strange but happy land,
Where the cruel Cross of England's
thralldom never to be seen:
But where, thank God! we'll live and die,
still Wearing of the Green!
Oh, Paddy dear and did you hear
The news that's going round?
The shamrock is by law forbid
To grow on Irish ground!
St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep(1),
His color can't be seen,
For they're hanging men and women(2)
For wearing of the green."
I met with Napper Tandy(3)
And he took me by the hand,
And he said, "How's poor old Ireland
And how does she stand?"
"She's the most distressful country
That you ever I have seen;
They're hanging men and women
For wearing of the green."
For the wearing of the green,
Oh! The wearing of the green.
They're hanging men and women(2)
for the wearing of the green.
Then since the color we must wear
Is England's cruel red,
Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget
The blood that they have shed.
You may take the shamrock from your hat,
And cast it on the sod(4),
But it'll take root and flourish there,
Tho' under foot it's trod.
My father loved his country,
and sleeps within her breast,
While I that would have died for her,
may never be so blest;
Those tears my mother shed for me,
how bitter they'd have been
If I had proved a traitor
to "The wearing of the green."
But if, at last, her colors should
be torn from Ireland's heart
Her sons, with shame and sorrow,
from the dear old soil will part;
I've heard whispers of a land
that lies far beyond sea,
Where rich and poor stand equal,
in the light of Freedom's day!
O Erin! must we leave you driven
by the tyrant's hand!
Must we ask a Mother's blessing,
in a strange but happy land,
Where the cruel Cross of England's
thralldom never to be seen:
But where, thank God! we'll live and die,
still Wearing of the Green!
envoyé par Cattia Salto - 16/5/2015 - 01:12
Langue: italien
Versione italiana di Cattia Salto
PER INDOSSARE IL VERDE
Oh Irlandesi avete sentito le ultime notizie del giorno?
Al trifoglio è proibito, per legge
di crescere sul suolo irlandese!
Il Giorno di San Patrizio non più lo terremo(1),
non si potrà vedere il suo colore,
(perché) impiccano uomini e donne(2)
che indossano il verde.
Ho incontrato Napper Tandy(3)
e lui mi ha preso per mano,
"Come sta la povera vecchia Irlanda
e come fa a stare in piedi? "
"Lei è il paese più pieno di sofferenza
che si sia mai visto;
impiccano uomini e donne
che indossano il verde."
per l'uso del verde, impiccano uomini e donne, per l'uso del verde
Poi, da quando il colore che dobbiamo indossare
è il crudele rosso d'Inghilterra,
di certo i figli d'Irlanda non saranno mai più dimenticati
per il sangue che hanno versato.
Ora puoi prendere il trifoglio dal cappello,
e gettarlo alle ortiche(4),
ma metterà radici e fiorirà ancora,
anche se sotto il piede è calpestato.
Mio padre amava la sua patria
e riposa tra le sue braccia
mentre io che sarei morto per lei
non potrò mai essere così fortunato;
quelle lacrime che mia madre ha versato per me
quanto più amare sarebbero state
se mi fossi rivelato un traditore
per "portare il verde"
Ma se infine i suoi colori dovessero
essere strappati dal cuore dell'Irlanda,
i suoi figli, con vergogna e dolore,
dal caro vecchio suolo si separeranno;
ho sentito sussurrare di una terra
che si trova ben aldilà del mare
dove ricchi e poveri sono uguali
alla luce del giorno della libertà!
O Erin! Dobbiamo lasciarti guidare
dalle mani del tiranno!
Dobbiamo chiedere la benedizione di Maria
in una terra straniera, ma felice,
dove la crudele croce della schiavitù inglese
non si è mai vista:
ma dove, a Dio piacendo, vivremo e moriremo
indossando ancora il verde
Oh Irlandesi avete sentito le ultime notizie del giorno?
Al trifoglio è proibito, per legge
di crescere sul suolo irlandese!
Il Giorno di San Patrizio non più lo terremo(1),
non si potrà vedere il suo colore,
(perché) impiccano uomini e donne(2)
che indossano il verde.
Ho incontrato Napper Tandy(3)
e lui mi ha preso per mano,
"Come sta la povera vecchia Irlanda
e come fa a stare in piedi? "
"Lei è il paese più pieno di sofferenza
che si sia mai visto;
impiccano uomini e donne
che indossano il verde."
per l'uso del verde, impiccano uomini e donne, per l'uso del verde
Poi, da quando il colore che dobbiamo indossare
è il crudele rosso d'Inghilterra,
di certo i figli d'Irlanda non saranno mai più dimenticati
per il sangue che hanno versato.
Ora puoi prendere il trifoglio dal cappello,
e gettarlo alle ortiche(4),
ma metterà radici e fiorirà ancora,
anche se sotto il piede è calpestato.
Mio padre amava la sua patria
e riposa tra le sue braccia
mentre io che sarei morto per lei
non potrò mai essere così fortunato;
quelle lacrime che mia madre ha versato per me
quanto più amare sarebbero state
se mi fossi rivelato un traditore
per "portare il verde"
Ma se infine i suoi colori dovessero
essere strappati dal cuore dell'Irlanda,
i suoi figli, con vergogna e dolore,
dal caro vecchio suolo si separeranno;
ho sentito sussurrare di una terra
che si trova ben aldilà del mare
dove ricchi e poveri sono uguali
alla luce del giorno della libertà!
O Erin! Dobbiamo lasciarti guidare
dalle mani del tiranno!
Dobbiamo chiedere la benedizione di Maria
in una terra straniera, ma felice,
dove la crudele croce della schiavitù inglese
non si è mai vista:
ma dove, a Dio piacendo, vivremo e moriremo
indossando ancora il verde
NOTE
(1) all'origine la festa di San Patrizio era una marcia di uomini armati di bastoni e il colore delle divise era il blu (essendo il colore nazionale dell'Irlanda) nella sua sfumatura caratteristica denominata appunto di San Patrizio, eppure già nel Seicento il trifoglio inizia ad essere associato alla festa: dal trifoglio al colore verde il passo è breve e i ribelli irlandesi del 1798 sventolano al cielo bandiere verdi. Nella mitologia irlandese contrariamente a quanto si possa ritenere la sovranità dell'Irlanda è rappresentata da una donna in abiti blu (così ad esempio quando Enrico VIII si dichiarò re d'Irlanda esibì sullo stemma un'arpa d'oro in campo azzurro). Alcuni nel tentativo di un compromesso cercarono di definire il blu di San Patrizio un verde-blu, man mano dal 1800 in poi il blu nazionale diventò il verde nazionale vedi
(2) nella versione tradizionale il verso era meno "colorito" "For there's a bloomin' law against" invece di For they're hanging men and women
(3) Napper Tandy fu un leader della ribellione del 1798, riconosciuto dagli inglesi fuggì in Francia. Anche Boucicault lasciò il suo paese per andare in America, una terra straniera ma libera (almeno per i bianchi!)
(4) sod è una zolla erbosa
(5) la strofa nella versione tradizionale dice:
When laws can stop the blades of grass for growing as they grow
And when the leaves in summertime their verdure dare not show
Then I will change the color too I wear in my caubeen*
But 'til that day, please God, I'll stick to Wearing of the Green.
* "caubeen" - tipico cappello del soldato irlandese
ulteriori considerazioni sul simbolo trifoglio-verde
http://terreceltiche.altervista.org/we...
(1) all'origine la festa di San Patrizio era una marcia di uomini armati di bastoni e il colore delle divise era il blu (essendo il colore nazionale dell'Irlanda) nella sua sfumatura caratteristica denominata appunto di San Patrizio, eppure già nel Seicento il trifoglio inizia ad essere associato alla festa: dal trifoglio al colore verde il passo è breve e i ribelli irlandesi del 1798 sventolano al cielo bandiere verdi. Nella mitologia irlandese contrariamente a quanto si possa ritenere la sovranità dell'Irlanda è rappresentata da una donna in abiti blu (così ad esempio quando Enrico VIII si dichiarò re d'Irlanda esibì sullo stemma un'arpa d'oro in campo azzurro). Alcuni nel tentativo di un compromesso cercarono di definire il blu di San Patrizio un verde-blu, man mano dal 1800 in poi il blu nazionale diventò il verde nazionale vedi
(2) nella versione tradizionale il verso era meno "colorito" "For there's a bloomin' law against" invece di For they're hanging men and women
(3) Napper Tandy fu un leader della ribellione del 1798, riconosciuto dagli inglesi fuggì in Francia. Anche Boucicault lasciò il suo paese per andare in America, una terra straniera ma libera (almeno per i bianchi!)
(4) sod è una zolla erbosa
(5) la strofa nella versione tradizionale dice:
When laws can stop the blades of grass for growing as they grow
And when the leaves in summertime their verdure dare not show
Then I will change the color too I wear in my caubeen*
But 'til that day, please God, I'll stick to Wearing of the Green.
* "caubeen" - tipico cappello del soldato irlandese
ulteriori considerazioni sul simbolo trifoglio-verde
http://terreceltiche.altervista.org/we...
envoyé par Cattia Salto - 16/5/2015 - 01:15
Langue: anglais
Eugene McEldowney, nato nel 1943 e poi per decenni nello Irish Times, nel 1973 ne scrisse una versione parodistica.
Well Paddy dear now did you hear the awful things they say
Princess Margaret and Lord Snowden they have joined the IRA
Aye they're drilling in the
Mountains to the sound of the fife and drum
Young Tony's taking snapshots while young Maggie fires the gun
While young Maggie fires the gun
While young Maggie fires the gun
Young Tony's taking snapshots
While young Maggie fires the gun
When the news reached Dublin Castle de Valera jumped with joy
Says he 'now Joe's a comrade, he's a decent Irish boy'
'And as for Princess Maggie she's a darling sweet colleen'
And spread the news through Ireland from Strabane to Skibbereen
From Strabane to Skibbereen
From Strabane to Skibbereen
And spread the news through Ireland
From Strabane to Skibbereen
When the news it reached the palace filled the Queen with much delight
She reared up at Prince Phillip in the middle of the night
Ah says she now 'Get your Rolls Royce out get ready quick and soon'
We must reach dear old Ireland by the rising of the moon
By the rising of the moon
By the rising of the moon
We must reach dear old Ireland
By the rising of the moon
Ah now Paddy dear I'll tell you there's terrible things in the land
The Queen and de Valera they are walking hand in hand
Oh but the funniest thing me boys that I have ever seen
Prince Phillip playing polo on his ass in Stephen's Green
On his ass in Stephen's Green
On his ass in Stephen's Green
Prince Phillip playing polo
On his ass in Stephen's Green
Princess Margaret and Lord Snowden they have joined the IRA
Aye they're drilling in the
Mountains to the sound of the fife and drum
Young Tony's taking snapshots while young Maggie fires the gun
While young Maggie fires the gun
While young Maggie fires the gun
Young Tony's taking snapshots
While young Maggie fires the gun
When the news reached Dublin Castle de Valera jumped with joy
Says he 'now Joe's a comrade, he's a decent Irish boy'
'And as for Princess Maggie she's a darling sweet colleen'
And spread the news through Ireland from Strabane to Skibbereen
From Strabane to Skibbereen
From Strabane to Skibbereen
And spread the news through Ireland
From Strabane to Skibbereen
When the news it reached the palace filled the Queen with much delight
She reared up at Prince Phillip in the middle of the night
Ah says she now 'Get your Rolls Royce out get ready quick and soon'
We must reach dear old Ireland by the rising of the moon
By the rising of the moon
By the rising of the moon
We must reach dear old Ireland
By the rising of the moon
Ah now Paddy dear I'll tell you there's terrible things in the land
The Queen and de Valera they are walking hand in hand
Oh but the funniest thing me boys that I have ever seen
Prince Phillip playing polo on his ass in Stephen's Green
On his ass in Stephen's Green
On his ass in Stephen's Green
Prince Phillip playing polo
On his ass in Stephen's Green
envoyé par Io non sto con Oriana - 25/12/2023 - 10:31
×
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This is the 1864 version by Dion Boucicault, written for his 1864 play "Arragh na Pogue", or "The Wicklow Wedding".