Anac Cuan

Ma fhaighimse sláinte is fada a bheas trocht ar
an mhéid a báthadh as Anach Cuan.
Mo thrua amhrach gach athair is mathair
bean is páiste atá ag síleadh síl.
A RÌ na nGrásta, a cheap neamh is Páthas,
nár bheag an bhacht d'inn beirt nó triúr?
Ach chomh breá leis gan gaoth gan bí isteach
is lán an bháid acu a scuabadh ar shiúil.

Nár mhór an t-íonadh os comhair na ndaoine
a bhfeiscint sínte ar chúl a gcinn?
Screadadh is caoineadh a scanradh daoine,
gruaig cíoradh is an chreach roinn.
Bhí buachaillí óga ann, tiocht an fhómhair,
Síneadh ar chróchar is tabhairt go cill.
Is gurbh é gléas a pósta a bhí turramh
Is, a Dhia na Glóire, nór mhór an feall?

Loscadh sléibhte agus scalladh cléibhe
ar an áit ar Éagadur is milleán crua,
mar is iomaí críatúr a d'fhág sé ag géar-ghol,
ag sileadh is ag Éagaoin gach maidin Luain.
Ní diabháil eolais a chuir i dtreoir iad
ach mí-ádh mór a bhí sa gCaisleán Nua.
Is é críochnú an amhráin gur báthadh mórán
is d'fhág ábhar dól is ag Anach Cuan

If my health is spared I'll be long relating,
Of the boat that sailed out from Anac Cuan,
And the keening after of mother and father,
As the laying out of each corpse was done.
Oh King of Graces, who died to save us,
It was a small affair but for one or two,
But a boat-load bravely on a calm sailing,
Without storm or rain to be swept to doom.

The boat sprang a leak and left all those people,
And frightened sheep out adrift on the tide,
It beats all telling what fate befell them,
Eleven strong men and eight women died.
Men who could manage a plough or harrow,
For to break the fallow or scatter seed,
And the women whose fingers could move so nimbly,
To spin fine linen or cloth to weave.

Young boys they were lying where crops were ripening,
From the strength of youth they were borne away,
In their wedding clothes for their wake they robed them,
Oh King of Glory man's hope is vain.

May burning mountains come tumbling downward,
On that place of drowning may curses fall,
Full many the soul it has left in mourning,
And left without hope of a bright day's dawn.
The cause of their fate was no fault of sailing ,
It was the boat that failed them the Caislean Nuadh,
And left me to make with a heart that's breaking,
This sad lamentation for Anac Cuain.

(Editor’s note: the ballad lament above is taken from the pages of An Claidheamh Soluis, and the following information is provided as background for those who might not know the historical context)

In the year 1828, on the fourth day of September, the Lough Corrib ferry boat Caisleán Nua departed Annaghdown pier for the fair in Galway city.

There was an air of merriment aboard, although the boat was overloaded, carrying thirty one people and almost a dozen sheep for auction at Fairhill, or Cnoc an Dolain, as well as certain amount of timber.

The boat wasn’t in great shape but the day was clear and the amber waters of the lake lapped gently at the sides, providing a mellow backdrop to the chatter of the passengers, who were looking forward to catching up with relatives and having a day out for themselves.

Nobody knows for sure what caused the first hole in the bottom to appear, but the story goes a sheep put its hoof through it, and a man pulled out the whole board when he tried to block the leak with his coat.

Nineteen men and women were never to make it to shore alive in the panic which followed, and not a family in the area was untouched by this terrible tragedy.