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Glory O, Glory O to the bold Fenian men?
I've really started to wonder why songs about the 1916 Easter Rising in Ireland are always making me cry. Sure, The Foggy Dew and Down By the Glenside are beautiful and touching tunes, but still...
I do not generally support bloodshed, even if it was in the name of liberty.
Nor am I a Republican or a nationalist of any kind. If I hear songs or tales about the Finnish War of Independence (or alternatively, Civil War or The Great Mindless Bloodbath), I'm mostly thinking something like "Bloody stupid idiots" or "I'm supposed to care?". So I couldn't give a damn about Mannerheim & co., but if I hear a song about Pádraig Pearse and his Fenians, I'm bawling like a baby? Odd.
I should probably watch that The Wind That Shakes the Barley someday to get a better picture about that whole era and see if my opinion about the Irish War of Independence and the Civil War is really any different than my opinion of the Finnish ones. Somehow I doubt it. Bloody Sunday's (both of them, really) nothing to be proud of, after all. IRA be damned.
But... If you'll allow me to venture into the realm of mystical mumbo-jumbo again for a moment...
If I think about that dream-vision-thingy I've had for I don't even know how long, the one with the young woman standing on a moor by the stormy sea (in moonlight, no less), clearly mourning but also determined, I suppose the imagery fits the beginning of the 1900s... (But then again I've always thought it's somewhere in Western Ireland, maybe in Connacht or somewhere near Clare in Munster, judging by the steep cliffs.)
Ah well, who knows... Maybe some past incarnation of me did live in Ireland circa 1916, or maybe earlier. Maybe not at all and I'm just imagining things. But it would kinda explain a lot.
Or maybe it's just the magic of the Irish music, as those people can sing about anything and make it the most heart-wrenching song ever. But strangely enough it's still this verse of The Foggy Dew that usually makes me cry the most:
"Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go, that "small nations might be free";
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North Sea.
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew."
And these as well:
"Oh the bravest fell, and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time of the year.
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few,
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew.
As back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more.
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew."
As I said: odd. *shakes head and wipes tears*
I do not generally support bloodshed, even if it was in the name of liberty.
Nor am I a Republican or a nationalist of any kind. If I hear songs or tales about the Finnish War of Independence (or alternatively, Civil War or The Great Mindless Bloodbath), I'm mostly thinking something like "Bloody stupid idiots" or "I'm supposed to care?". So I couldn't give a damn about Mannerheim & co., but if I hear a song about Pádraig Pearse and his Fenians, I'm bawling like a baby? Odd.
I should probably watch that The Wind That Shakes the Barley someday to get a better picture about that whole era and see if my opinion about the Irish War of Independence and the Civil War is really any different than my opinion of the Finnish ones. Somehow I doubt it. Bloody Sunday's (both of them, really) nothing to be proud of, after all. IRA be damned.
But... If you'll allow me to venture into the realm of mystical mumbo-jumbo again for a moment...
If I think about that dream-vision-thingy I've had for I don't even know how long, the one with the young woman standing on a moor by the stormy sea (in moonlight, no less), clearly mourning but also determined, I suppose the imagery fits the beginning of the 1900s... (But then again I've always thought it's somewhere in Western Ireland, maybe in Connacht or somewhere near Clare in Munster, judging by the steep cliffs.)
Ah well, who knows... Maybe some past incarnation of me did live in Ireland circa 1916, or maybe earlier. Maybe not at all and I'm just imagining things. But it would kinda explain a lot.
Or maybe it's just the magic of the Irish music, as those people can sing about anything and make it the most heart-wrenching song ever. But strangely enough it's still this verse of The Foggy Dew that usually makes me cry the most:
"Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go, that "small nations might be free";
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North Sea.
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew."
And these as well:
"Oh the bravest fell, and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time of the year.
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few,
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew.
As back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more.
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew."
As I said: odd. *shakes head and wipes tears*
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Mutta viskin jätän tosiaan muiden ryypättäväksi. :p