Amhrán an tSeanchaí (Song of the Storyteller)

{Gaeilge} I mbun na tine tráthnóna ciúin, Bhíodh glór na scéalta linn mar dhraíocht; Ní raibh sa dorchadas ach solas súl, Ag éisteacht leis an seanchaí críonna. Bhíodh ríthe ann agus laochra láidre, Mná sí agus draoithe faoin gcnoc; D’oscail a bhéal geataí an aisling, ‘S d’imigh an saol crua thar ár n-olc. {English} Beside the fire on quiet evenings, The voice of story worked its spell; No light but eyes and glowing embers, Listening where the old man dwelt. There were kings and heroes marching, Fairy women beneath the hill; He opened wide the gates of dreaming, And daily cares grew strangely still. {Gaeilge} Ó, a sheanchaí, fan linn fós, I bhfuaim do ghutha tá ár ndóchas; Sular tháinig boscaí geala, Bhí an domhan i do dhá lámha. Ó, a sheanchaí, glór na gaoithe, Glór na n-aithreacha romhainn; Thug tú aisling isteach sa teach, Agus thug tú sinn amach asainn. {English} Oh storyteller, stay beside us, In your voice our hopes were found; Before the glowing boxes came, You held the whole world in your hands. Oh storyteller, voice of ages, Voice of those who came before; You brought the dream into the cottage, And led us past the everyday door. {Gaeilge} Bhíodh gáire ag preabadh i do shúile, Mar ealaín bheo ar gach focal; Do lámha ag tógáil caisleán ceo, Do mhéara ag tarraingt bóithre fada. Bhíodh na páistí ina dtost glan, Na seandaoine ag cromadh isteach; Bhí gach croí mar aon chroí amháin, Ag imeacht leat thar teorainn an lae. {English} Laughter danced behind your bright eyes, Waiting always to break free; Your hands built castles out of moonlight, Your fingers traced forgotten seas. The children sat in perfect silence, The elders leaned a little near; Many hearts became one heartbeat, Travelling where your voice would steer. {Gaeilge} Anois cloistear guthanna eile, Ó shreanga agus ó scáileáin ghlasa; Ach ní bhíonn anam sa mheaisín, Mar bhí i gcroí an tseanchaí. Mar tá teas i nguth an duine, Níl le fáil i gcré ná i gcruach; Agus fad a inseofar scéalta, Mairfidh do ríocht linn go buan. {English} Now other voices fill the evenings, From wires and screens that brightly glow; Yet no machine has ever carried The living heart we used to know. For warmth resides in human voices, Not in steel nor polished glass; And while a tale is told among us, Your kingdom never truly passes. {Gaeilge} Ó, a sheanchaí, codail séimh, Tá do rian fós ar ár mbealach; Mar a mhair an tine faoin luaith, Maireann do scéalta inár gcroí. {English} Oh storyteller, rest in gentleness, Your footprints still guide where we roam; As fire survives beneath the ashes, Your stories burn within our homes. — 24 Meitheamh 2026 / 24 June 2026