Singer: Máirín Uí Chéide (Boston)
Photography: Mikey Ó Flatharta (Ireland)
Editor: Gabrielle Dainard (Canada)
A woman by the name of Máire Ní Chlochartaigh wrote this song while she was on her death bed. She was married to Taimín Bán Ó Conghaile of Leitir Calaidh but she wanted to be buried in her own place, Muighinis (near Carna, Co Galway). But the weather was so bad for three days after her death that it wasn't possible to make the boat trip to Muighinis and she was buried in Leitir Calaidh instead.

The only piece of information I have to add to what I wrote about the song in "Blas Meala" concerns the flag which Máire Ní Chlochartaigh wished to have flown on the boat which was to bring her body to Muighinis; according to Séamus Ó Dúbháin (from Ard Mór, Cill Chiaráin) the flag was one which he used to wave at boats passing by her home in Leitir Calaidh."

THE SONG OF MUIGHINIS (translation from the Irish)

If I were three leagues out at sea or on mountains far from home,
without any living thing near me, but the green fern and heather,
snow being blown on me from the north and the wind whipping it off me,
and if I were conversing with my fair Taimín, I would not find the night long.

And, dear Mary, what will I do? This windter is coming on cold.
And, dear Mary, what will become of this house and all those in it?
Isn't it a pity now that I'm parting from you at the coming of the fine weather,
at the time when the cuckoo is making music and every green leaf growing?

If it was you who were dying and I were remaining behind,
I would be rearing your family for you, every night and every day.
Oh, I would walk the province with them, and over to the County Clare,
and I would not think, as long as I remained alive, of putting another man in your place.

Cut my coffin out for me, from the choicest bright boards;
and if Seán Hynes is in Muighinis, let it be made by his hand.
Let my cap and my ribbon be inside in it, and the nicely placed on my head,
and let me have three young women from the mountains to mourn me (when I'm) laid out.

And if I have my family at home the night that I die,
oh, won't they wake me worthily for three nights and three days?
They will have the white clay pipes, and kegs full,
and Big Páidín will bring me to Muighinis, or else the day will be rough.

And as I go west by Inse Ghainnimh ('Sandy Island'), let the flag be on the mast.
Oh, do not bury me in Leitir Calaidh, for it's not where my people are,
but bring me west to Muighinis, to the place

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