Bíaidh do berad ar ndee 7 ar dtoicthe dúin.

Bíaidh do·berad ar ndee 7 ar dtoicthe dúinn.

(will be * might bring * our * gods * & * our * fortune * to us)

We will have whatever our gods and our fate bring us.

This pagan sentiment is put in the mouth of the Danish chieftain Horm in the Fragmentary Annals (p. 92).



(may me * lord * protect)

May the Lord preserve me!

We find this exclamation is written down in the "Thesaurus" (ii 290.11). The word order is archaic, involving a feature called tmesis, which allows a noun to intervene right in the middle of the verbal complex, something like "May pro-the Lord-tect me!"

Is én immon·iada sás...

Is én immon·iada sás,
is nau tholl diant éslinn gúas,
is lestar fás is crann crín,
nad·déni thoil ind ríg thúas.

(is * bird * around which closes * snare /
is * boat * perforated * to which is * dangerous * jeopardy /
is * vessel * empty * is * tree * withered /
that does not * will * of the * king * above)

He is a bird around which the trap closes,
he is a leaky ship that is unsafe in perilous waters,
he is a an empty vessel, a withered tree,
whoever does not do the will of the king above.

This stanza, attributed to Saint Moling, is collected in the "Thesaurus", vol. 2, page 294.

Mo théora ucsi forsin Ríg...

Mo théora ucsi forsin Ríg
in tan noscairiub frim chrí:
nímraib dorat i coibsi,
nímraib náma, nímraib ní.

(my * three * wishes * on the * King /
the * time * that I will separate * from my * body /
may I not have * difficulty * in * confession /
may I not have * enemy * may I not have * thing)

My three wishes of the King
when I part from my body:
may I have nothing to confess,
may I have no enemies, no possessions.

From a three-stanza poem edited and translated by Kuno Meyer in Ériu, vol. 6, p. 116.

Ropadh maith lem...

Ropadh maith lem
cormlind mór do rígh na rígh;
muinntir nimhe
aca hól tre bithe sír.

(would be * good * with me/
ale-lake * big * for * king * of the * kings/
family * of heaven/
at-its * drinking * through * ages * eternal)

I would like
a great lake of ale for the King of Kings;
and the household of heaven
drinking it throughout eternity.

The first stanza of a Middle Irish poem conventionally attributed to Saint Brigit, edited by David Greene in Celtica, vol. 2, pt. 1. There are a number of early tales that tell of Brigit's miraculous talent for turning bath water into beer and similar exploits.

Día limm fri fuin, Día limm fri fáir.

Día limm fri fuin, Día limm fri fáir.

(God * with me * at * sunset * God * with me * at * sunrise)

God with me at sunset, God with me at sunrise.

A blessing attributed to Colum Cille in "Sanas Cormaic" (# 605). By substituting other prepositional forms for "limm", this can be a blessing not of oneself but of others: "latt" (with you, singular),"lib" (with you, plural), or "linn" (with us).

Cáid cech rét mad fri canóine comúaimm.

Cáid cech rét mad fri canóine comúaimm.

(holy * each * thing * if be * with * scripture * harmony)

Everything that agrees with scripture is holy.

A maxim found in "Sanas Cormaic" #291.

Ná luig, ná luig...

Ná luig, ná luig
fót fora taí:
gairit bía fair,
fota bía faí.

(not * swear * not * swear/
sod * on which * you are/
short * you will be * on it/
long * you will be * under it)

Do not swear, do not swear
by the sod on which you stand;
a short time you'll be on it,
a long time you'll be under it.

This is the first stanza, edited by James Carney in "Medieval Irish Lyrics", of a five stanza poem on the vanity and brevity of earthly life. This first stanza also stands alone as a marginal note, written in red, in the manuscript Laud Misc. 610, fol. 116 v. Charles Plummer, in "On the Colophons and Marginalia of Irish Scribes" in Proceedings of the British Academy XII, 1926, gives the first line as "Na ling, na ling" and translates it as "Trample not, trample not", but close inspection of the page in question shows that Plummer's reading is clearly mistaken.

Samaltir in molad doínde...

Samaltir in molad doínde fri laithe ar a gairti mbís.

(is likened * the * praise * human * to * day * according to * its * shortness * that it always is)

Human praise is likened to a day because of the short time it endures.

This clerical opinion of the shortness of fame from the Würzburg Glosses (Wb. 8d22) is rather at odds with Cú Chulainn's heroic estimation of fame that begins "Acht ropa airdirc-se...".

Feib charai th'anmain fodhein...

Feib charai th'anmain fodhein,
car anmain cach aein.

(as * you love * your * soul * own /
love * soul * of each * one)

A rhyming version of "Love thy neighbor as thyself", quoted by Stokes and Meyer in the Archiv für celtische Lexikographie (iii.317.1).

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