Hard Times Come Again No More
Stephen Collins Foster| Original | Irish transcreation by Gabriel Rosenstock |
| HARD TIMES COME AGAIN NO MORE Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears, While we all sup sorrow with the poor; There's a song that will linger forever in our ears; Oh Hard times come again no more. Tis the song, the sigh of the weary, Hard Times, hard times, come again no more Many days you have lingered around my cabin door; Oh hard times come again no more. While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay, There are frail forms fainting at the door; Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say Oh hard times come again no more. Tis the song, the sigh of the weary, Hard Times, hard times, come again no more Many days you have lingered around my cabin door; Oh hard times come again no more. There's a pale drooping maiden who toils her life away, With a worn heart whose better days are o'er: Though her voice would be merry, 'tis sighing all the day, Oh hard times come again no more. Tis the song, the sigh of the weary, Hard Times, hard times, come again no more Many days you have lingered around my cabin door; Oh hard times come again no more. Tis a sigh that is wafted across the troubled wave, Tis a wail that is heard upon the shore Tis a dirge that is murmured around the lowly grave Oh hard times come again no more. Tis the song, the sigh of the weary, Hard Times, hard times, come again no more Many days you have lingered around my cabin door; Oh hard times come again no more. | AN DROCHSHAOL Tóg do shos i measc pléisiúir is comhair na deora muar’ Inár gcroí bíodh lucht an anró, Tá amhráinín a fhanfaidh go deo inár gcluas Ó Drochshaol, ná bí linn níos mó. Sé amhrán, ochlán na ndaoine é Drochshaol, Drochshaol, ná bí linn níos mó, Tá tú tamall id’ sheasamh amuigh ansin sa chlós Ó Drochshaol, ná bí linn níos mó. Insa tóir dúinn ar áilleacht, ar aeraíocht is ar cheol Tá na bochtáin lag amuigh sa chlós Cé nach labhraíonn siad puinn, ’sé tá ar a mbeol: Ó Drochshaol, ná bí linn níos mó. Ó nach mílítheach ise, ag sclábhaíocht mar atá Tá a croí bocht ina crotal cnó, Is ní chloistear a thuilleadh aon rann aici á rá Ach Drochshaol, ná bí linn níos mó. Osna í atá caite na tonnta suaite anonn Ar an trá cloistear í mar olagón Is cois uaighe ina cogar a chloisimid an fonn Ó, Drochshaol, ná bí linn níos mó. |
