Filíocht: Caoineadh Cill Chais as ecological lament

Ár gcultúr dúchais is deeply embedded within the landscape, soil and wildlife of this land, something poet Aodhagán Ó Rathaille understood better than anyone.

Caoineadh Cill Chais agus Titim na nGael¹

Tá Caoineadh Cill Chais ar cheann de na véarsaíochtaí is mó tionchair i litríocht na Gaeilge, ag caoineadh scriosadh pobal Caitliceach Bhuitléir agus meath na huaisleachta Gaelaí i gCill Chais, Contae Thiobraid Árann. Tugann an dán léargas ar thubaiste nach bhfuil ach imithe ina diaidh—ní hamháin caisleán, ach saol iomlán a scriosadh: ‘Créad a dhéanfaimid feasta gan adhmad, tá deireadh na gcoillte ar lár’. Ní tharlaíonn an caoineadh seo ar leibhéal amháin; is é atá á chaoineadh ná briseadh meafarach ar shíocháin, ar chultúr, agus ar chóras traidisiúnta a bhíodh ann roimh an gcoimhlint.

Léiríonn an dán radharc rómánsúil ar shaol atá imithe, áit a raibh ceol, cultúr, agus creideamh i réim: ‘bhíodh iarlaí ag tarraing tar toinn ann, is an tAifreann binn á rá’. Ach tá an radharc seo scriosta anois, agus ina áit tá tír fhásach: ‘níl coll, níl cuileann, níl caora ann, ach clocha agus maolchlocháin’. Is sampla é seo den “aisling” atá caillte—domhan samhailteach a bhfuil díol trua ag dul dó, ach nach bhfuil ann ach i gcuid de mheon an fhile.

Tá an caoineadh níos doimhne ná scriosadh fisiciúil; is é atá i gceist ná meath na cumhachta Caitlicí agus Gaelach in Éirinn. Tagraíonn an dán do ‘prionsa na nGael’ a imigh thar sáile, rud a léiríonn an t-éadóchas a bhain le teip na Stíobhartach agus le teacht an réabhlóid Phrotastúnaigh. Mar sin féin, tá súil le hathbheochan sa líne dheiridh: ‘go dtógfar an baile seo ár sinsear, Cill Chais bhreá arís go hard’—ach is súil é atá dallta ag an gcumha.

Is é an chuid is suntasaí den dán ná an chaoi a n-aithnítear gurb é brionglóid atá á caoineadh, seachas caisleán amháin. Tugann an file radharc ar shaol a bhí lán le ceol (‘ceol veidhlín is tinte cnámh’), le flaitheas (‘an áit úd ina gcónaíodh an deighbhean’), agus le haoibhneas nádúrtha (‘níl ceol binn milis na n-éan ann’). Ach tá an domhan sin imithe, agus ní fhillfidh sé: ‘is go brách nó go dtiocfaidh an díleann, ní fheicfear í arís ar lár!’.

I gcrích, is éard atá i Caoineadh Cill Chais ná tuama liteartha do Éire na nGael—Éire a bhí ann tráth, ach nach bhfuil ann feasta ach mar chuimhne. Tá cumhacht aeistéitiúil sa dán a théann thar chás stairiúil Chill Chais féin, ag déanamh ceiliúir ar an gcailliúint uile a bhaineann le titim chultúir.

I mBéarla: Gaeldom’s fall as a ecological catastrophe

Here provided is the original Caoineadh Cill Chais as Gaeilge, as well as James Clarence Mangan’s wonderful metric translation. While a famous ode, there is never a bad time to return to celebrating this classic lament about the fall of Gaeldom. Specifically bemoaning the fall of the Catholic Butler dynasty in Cill Chais, Contae Thiobraid Árann, the song cannot be easily incrementalised to any modern understaning of ‘Irish’ identity. Owing from that peculiar moment of time, where Ireland, of Banba as it was often referred to, was metaphysically represented as the cause of Jacobitism, the battle of the Gaels as well as Old English Catholics in the Stuart Dynasty faced against the new revolutionary order of Liberal protestantism.

The song clearly denotes a nostalgic, romanticised view of a past dream world under Gaelic and Catholic rule, where the music was sweet and the natural world lived in peace and harmony. It may be idyllic, and perhaps propagandistic, but it has an aesthetic power which cannot be articulated by much modern poetry. What is lamented in Caoineadh Cill Chais is not simply the fall of a mere castle, nor a kingdom, nor even a nation. What is lamented is a far greater thing–the fall of a dream, a metaphysical world that only blind poets and hermit monks can visit.

Caoineadh Cill Chais

Créad a dhéanfaimid feasta gan adhmad,

tá deireadh na gcoillte ar lár;

níl trácht ar Chill Chais ná a teaghlach,

is ní bainfear a cling go bráth;

an áit úd ina gcónaíodh an deighbhean

a fuair gradam is meidhir tar mhná,

bhíodh iarlaí ag tarraing tar toinn ann,

is an tAifreann binn á rá.

Is é mo chreach fhada is mo léan goirt

do gheataí breá néata ar lár,

an avenue ghreanta faoi shaothar

is gan foscadh ar aon taobh den walk,

an chúirt bhreá a sileadhg an braon di

is an ghasra shéimh go tláith,

is in leabhar na marbh do léitear

an tEaspag is Lady Iveagh!

Ní chluinim fuaim lacha ná gé ann

ná fiolair ag déanadh aeir cois cuain,

ná fiú na mbeacha chum saothair

a thabharfadh mil agus céir don tslua,

níl ceol binn milis na n-éan ann

le hamharc an lae a dhul uainn,

ná an chuaichín i mbarra na ngéag ann,

- ó, 'sí a chuirfeadh an saol chum suain!

Nuair a thigeann na poic faoi na sléibhte

is an gunna lena dtaobh is an líon

féachann siad anuas le léan ar

an mbaile a fuair sway in gach tír;

an fhaiche bhreá aoibhinn ina réabacha

is gan foscadh ar aon taobh ón tsín,

páirc an phaddock ina dairy

mar a mbíodh an eilit ag déanadh a scíth'!

Tá ceo ag titim ar chraobhaibh ann

ná glanann le grian ná lá,

tá smúit ag titim ón spéir ann,

is a cuid uisce go léir ag trá;

níl coll, níl cuileann, níl caora ann,

ach clocha agus maolchlocháin;

páirc na foraoise gan chraobh ann,

is d'imigh an game chum fáin!

Anois mar bharr ar gach mí-ghreann

chuaigh prionsa na nGael tar sáil,

anonn le hainnir na míne

fuair gairm sa bhFrainc is sa Spáinn -

anois tá a cuallacht á caoineadh,

gheibheadh airgead buí agus bán,

'sí ná tógfadh seilbh na ndaoine,

acht caraid na bhfíorbhochtán.

Aitím ar Mhuire is ar Íosa

go dtaga sí arís chughainn slán,

go mbeidh rincí fada ag gabháil timpeall,

ceol veidhlín is tinte cnámh,

go dtógfar an baile seo ár sinsear

Cill Chais bhreá arís go hard,

is go brách nó go dtiocfaidh an díleann

ní fheicfear í arís ar lár!

A Lament for Kilcash

Oh sorrow the saddest and sorest,

Kilcash’s attractions are fled-

Felled lie the high trees of its forest,

And its bells hang silent and dead.

There dwelt the fair lady, the vaunted

Who spread through the island her fame;

There the Mass and the vespers were chanted,

And thither the proud Earls came.

I am worn by anguish unspoken

As I gaze on its glories defaced,

Its beautiful gates lying broken,

Is gardens all desert and waste.

Its courts, that in lightening and thunder

Stood firm, are alas! all decayed;

And the Lady Iveagh sleepeth under

The sod in the greenwood shade.

No more on a summer-day sunny

Shall I hear the thrush sing from his lair,

No more see the bee bearing honey

At noon through the odorous air.

Hushed now in the thicket so shady

The dove hath forgotten her call,

And mute in the grave lies the Lady

Whose voice was the sweetest of all!

As the deer from the brown of the mountain

When chased by the hunter and hound,

Looks down upon forest and fountain,

And all the green scenery round;

So I on thy drear desolation

Gaze O my Kilcash upon thee!

Oh thy ruin and black devastation

So doleful and woeful to see.

There is mist on thy woods and thy meadows;

The sun appears shorn of his beams;

Thy gardens are shrouded in shadows,

And the beauty is gone from thy streams.

The hare has forsaken his cover; The wild fowl is lost to the lake; Desolation hath shadowed thee over,

And left thee-all briar and brake!

And I weep while I pen the sad story-

Our Prince has gone over the main,

With a danisel, the pride and the glory

Not more of Green Eire than Spain. The Poor and the Helpless bewail her;

The Cripple, the Blind, and the Old; She never stood forth as their jailer, But gave them her silver and gold.

O, GOD! I beseech thee to send her

Home here to the land of her birth! We shall then have rejoicing and splendour,

And revel in plenty and mirth.

And our land shall be highly exalted;

And till the dread dawn of that day When the race of Old Time shall have halted,

It shall flourish in glory alway!

1. Íomhá: Wolfwalkers.