Get all 31 Enda Reilly releases available on Bandcamp and save 50%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Off the Grid For a While, A Dublin Farewell, Gráinne Mhaol, We Stick Together (The Sullivans), To The Waters And The Wild, Whisperings, The Foggy Dew, Come Harvest Day, and 23 more.
1. |
The Wild Swans at Coole
03:06
|
|||
THE WILD SWANS AT COOLE
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
|
||||
2. |
The Stolen Child
03:52
|
|||
THE STOLEN CHILD
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can
understand
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can
understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,.
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To to waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For to world's more full of weeping than you can
understand.
Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For be comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
from a world more full of weeping than you can
understand.
|
||||
3. |
||||
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
|
||||
4. |
||||
Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.
Thíos cois gharraithe na sailí dúinn mé féin is mo mhíle grá
Ghabh sí thar gharraithe na sailí is a dhá coisín chomh bán.
Bog breá, ar sí, a stóirín, mar dhuilleoga ag teacht ar an gcrann
Ach bhíos-sa baoth is díomhaoin, is ar chiall do bhí mé gann.
In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
I ngort cois na habhann dúinn, mé féin is grá mo chléibh
Leag sí lámh ar ghualainn liom, lámh álainn lonrach ghlé.
Breá bog, ar sí, a stóirín, mar a éiríonn an chora glas
Ach bhíos-sa baoth is díomhaoin, féach na deora liom go fras.
|
||||
5. |
A Faery Song
01:13
|
|||
Sung by the people of Faery over Diarmuid and Grania,
in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.
|
||||
6. |
A Drinking Song
02:15
|
|||
A DRINKING SONG /AMHRÁN NA PÓITE
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
Sa bhéal isteach a thagann fíon
Sa tsúil isteach an grá;
Ní heol dúinn fírinne tharais sin
Roimh chríonna dúinn, roimh bhás,
Cuirim an ghloine lem bhéal,
Féachaim ort le hosna chléibh
|
||||
7. |
September 1913
04:08
|
|||
What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone;
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.
Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman’s rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.
Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.
Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You’d cry, ‘Some woman’s yellow hair
Has maddened every mother’s son’:
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they’re dead and gone,
They’re with O’Leary in the grave.
|
||||
8. |
The Everlasting Voices
02:45
|
|||
O sweet everlasting Voices, be still;
Go to the guards of the heavenly fold
And bid them wander obeying your will,
Flame under flame, till Time be no more;
Have you not heard that our hearts are old,
That you call in birds, in wind on the hill,
In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore?
O sweet everlasting Voices, be still.
A ghuthanna binne síoraí bígí ciúin
Imigí chuig gardaí bhanrach Neimhe
Is tathantaigh orthu dul ag fánaíocht de réir bhur dtola
Lasair faoi lasair go dtí nach ann don am níos mó,
Nár chuala sibh gur chríon ár gcroí
Is go nglaoon sibh san éanlaith sa ghaoth ar an gcnoc
Sa ghéag creathánach sa taoide ar an trá
A ghuthanna binne síoraí ciúnas
|
||||
9. |
When you are old
03:06
|
|||
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
|
||||
10. |
Epitaph
01:59
|
|||
Cast a Cold Eye on Life On Death Horseman Pass by.
|
||||
11. |
||||
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
|
||||
12. |
The Rose Tree
01:38
|
|||
'O words are lightly spoken,'
Said Pearse to Connolly,
'Maybe a breath of politic words
Has withered our Rose Tree;
Or maybe but a wind that blows
Across the bitter sea.'
'It needs to be but watered,'
James Connolly replied,
'To make the green come out again
And spread on every side,
And shake the blossom from the bud
To be the garden's pride.'
'But where can we draw water,'
Said Pearse to Connolly,
'When all the wells are parched away?
O plain as plain can be
There's nothing but our own red blood
Can make a right Rose Tree.'
|
Enda Reilly Plymouth, Michigan
Folk Singer, Songwriter and guitarist.
Original songs in Irish and English, WB Yeats' poetry and
collaborations and sharing Irish culture in the USA through song.
"FIRMLY ROOTED IN THE PAST WITH AN EYE AND EAR FOR THE FUTURE. ....THE REAL DEAL.”
RORY MAKEM
... more
Streaming and Download help
Enda Reilly recommends:
If you like Enda Reilly, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp