Sir Patrick Spens

Originale

Irish transcreation by Gabriel Rosenstock

SIR PATRICK SPENS The King sits in Dumferling toune Drinking the blude-reid wine: "O quhar will I get guid sailor To sail this schip of mine?" Up and spak an eldern knicht, Sat at the kings richt kne: "Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor That sails upon the se." The King has written a braid letter An' signed it wi' his hand, An' sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand. The first line that Sir Patrick red A loud lauch lauched he; The next line that Sir Patrick red The teir blinded his ee. "O quha is this has done this deid, This ill deid don to me, To send me out this time o' the yeir To sail upon the se?" "Mak hast, mak hast, my mirry men all, Our guid schip sails the morne:" "O say na sae, my master deir, For I fear a deadlie storme. "Late yestreen I saw the new moone, Wi' the auld moone in her arme, And I feir, I feir, my deir master That we will cum to harme." O our Scots nobles were licht laith To weet their cork-heil'd schoone; Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd Their hats they swam aboone. O lang, o lang may their ladies sit Wi' their fans into their hand, Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence Cum sailing to the land. O lang, o lang may the ladies stand Wi' their goud kems in their hair, Waiting for their ain deir lords, For they'll se thame na mair. Have owre, have owre to Aberdour It's fiftie fadom deip, An' thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.

SIR PATRICK SPENS Is i nDùn Phàrlain atá an rí Is é ag ól an fhíon’: ‘Ó cá bhfaighinnse an captaen groí Chun mo bhárc a sheol’ thar toinn?’ Do sheas ansin an ridire críon, Shuigh in aice an rí: ‘Níl fear níos fearr ná Sir Patrick Spens Ag treabhadh na bhfarraigí!’ Tá litir scríofa aige lena lámh Is uirthi séala atá Á seoladh chuig Sir Patrick Spens A bhí ag siúl cois trá. ‘Chuig an Iorua, an Iorua An Iorua leat i gcéin! Banphrionsa bhreá na hIorua Is mian liom í faoim’ dhéin.’ ‘Ó! Cé a dhein an feall orm Nó cé labhair leis an Rí Chun sinn a chur ar an bhfarraige ghorm Tráth garbh seo sa bhliain!’ Ní rabhadar rófhada ón dtír Léig nó dhó nó trí Nuair ba dhubh an spéir is nuair b’ard an ghaoth Os cionn na bhfarraigí. Is bhris ansin na hancairí A leithéid sin de chreach Do scoilt an crann is do bhúir an mhuir Is níor spáráladh neach. Is d’fháisc na maighdeana a lámh’ Is stróiceadar a ngruaig Is sileadh deora bróin is grá Don dream a bádh ó thuaidh. As Obar Dheathain daichead míl’ Síos síos sa duibheagán Is ann atá Sir Patrick Spens Is a chriú ina gcodladh sámh.