about
This is a very famous poem in early Irish literature, sometimes referred to by its first line, "I invoke the land of Ireland" or sometimes shortened to "Invoking Ireland". It is attributed to Amergin Glúngel mac Míl in _Lebor Gabala Erenn_ (The Book of Invasions of Ireland).
The language here is Old Irish, an early medieval version of the Gaelic languages and a common ancestor language to modern Irish, Manx, and Scottish Gaelic.
If you are trying to sound out the poem yourself, and you are new to trying to read and pronounce Old Irish (or any of the Gaelic languages), I encourage you to make your own notes so it is easier for you to figure it out for yourself. I encourage you to print out the approximate pronunciation guide I have written out, either here or photocopy it from _A Circle of Stones_, and then write in your own notes to make it easier for you to work with. This is the 2nd-longest of all the prayers in _A Circle of Stones_, but it is also one of my favorites.
lyrics
Ailiu iath nErend
Ermach muir mothuch
Mothach sliagh sreathach
Srethach coill ciothach
Ciothach ab essach
Eassach loch lionmar
Liondmar tor tiopra
Tiopra tuath aenaigh
Aenach righ Temra
Teamair tor tuatha
Tuatha mac Míled
Míledh long, libern
Libern ard, Ere
Ere ard, diclass
Dichteal rogaeth
Ro gaes ban Breisi
Breisi, ban Buaigni
Be abdal Ere
Eremhon ortus
Ír, Eber ailsius
Ailiu iath nErenn
approximate pronunciation:
ALL-yoo EE-ath NAYR-enth
AIR-mahkh mweer MOTH-ukh
MOTH-ukh SHLEE-ugh SHREH-thahkh
SHREH-thahkh kill KEE-ah-thahkh
KEE-ah-thahkh ab ESS-ahkh
ESS-ahkh lokh LEE-on-var
LEE-on-var tor TEE-a-pra
TEE-a-pra TOO-ath EH-nahkh
EH-nahkh reegh TEV-ra
TEV-er tor TOO-a-tha
TOO-a-tha mac MEE-leth
MEE-leth long, LIV-ern
LIV-ern ard, AYR-a
AYR-a ard, DI-glass
DIKH-tal ro-GI’TH
ro gi’s, ban BRAY-shee
BRAY-shee, ban BOO-ugh-nyee
bay AV-thal AYR-a
AYR-e-von OR-tus
eer, EH-ver AHL-shiu
ALL-yoo EE-ath NAYR-en
Translation:
I invoke the land of Ireland,
Much-coursed be the fertile sea,
Fertile be the fruit-strewn mountains,
Fruit-strewn be the showery wood,
Showery be the river of waterfalls,
Of waterfalls be the lake of the deep pools,
Deep-pooled be the hill-top well
A well of tribes be the assembly,
An assembly of kings be Tara,
Tara be a hill of the tribes,
The tribes of the sons of Míl,
Of Míl of the ships, the barks,
Let the lofty bark be Ireland,
Lofty Ireland, darkly sung,
An incantation of great cunning,
The great cunning of the wives of Bres,
The wives of Bres, of Buaigne;
The great lady Ireland,
Eremon hath conquered her,
Ír, Eber have invoked for her,
I invoke the land of Ireland.
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