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Альбом Cruachan


Tuatha Na Gael (1995)
1995
1.
I Am Tuan (instrumental)
2.
3.
Maeves March (instrumental)
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
Brian Boru (instrumental)
9.
. . .

I Am Tuan (instrumental)

[Нет текста]

. . .


They came here when the sun was high.
The sea was calm to meet them.
From out of the wind above the hills.
Come a fleet of godly men.

Borne on strong winds from the otherworld.
Shrouded by magical mists-
The Tuatha De Danann came in their-
Great magical mystical ships.
Nuada, king of Tuatha De,
Turned his eager sharp eyes
Towards the land of his ancestral home,
The valleys, The sea and the skies.

He was a giant among mortal men,
A hero among the immortals'
Who led his people{warriors strong}
Back to the land of their fathers.

The Fir Bolg, Who were in Eireann before the Tuatha De Danann.
Sent streng their mighty champian to parley with the future king.
Breas was sent by Nuada to find out his intent,
"I greet you as a brother", said Streng "By Eochai I've been sent".

The terms of battle were laid, half of Eireann Breas asked,
The Fir Bolg said this can't be paid, the time of goodwill has now passed.
Both sides made plans, they prepared their wells of healing,
Tribes and clans led by the chieftains and their kings.

The sun shone down on helmets, shields and swords,
Midsummers day-The two armies walked in haodes-
Towards Magh Nai-The Fir Bolg followed their chietains,
And swept towards the Tuatha DE like waves crash on the beaches.

The clash of sword and shield, The splintering of bone,
The Fir Bolg would not yield, Though they heard their people's moans.

The naked hillmen warriors, were forced back through the fight,
Followed by his bodyguard, The Dagda took their lives'
But the ground was piled high with the dead of the Tuatha De
All surviving warriors fled to live and fight another day.

"We have been defeated but tomorrows another day"
"Summon your courage. Prepare yourselves,
Tomorrow the Fir Bolg we slay"
Four more days of battle came and many fine warriors fell,
Mothers lost their fighting sons-The wounded healed in wells.
Nuada lost his strong right arm, Now he will lose his throne,
The sons of Nuada killed Eochai, But they too were overthrown.
Streng led the Fir Bolg to the fort and met with the injured,
Nuada, Both men declared a truce and Eireann was fairly divided.



. . .

Maeves March (instrumental)

[Нет текста]

. . .


The most beautiful city built on the middle-Earth,
It's splendour was highly acclaimed,
The Noldor Elf grew mighty and strong,
In the land were Turgon Reigned,
Then Tuor was sent by Ulmo-
The lord of the ocean and sea,
To tell the people of Gondolin,
Prepare to fight or flee.

But Turgon he was stubborn,
"That will I not do!".
He had grown to love his city,
And the terror of Morgoth he knew.

The city was discovered,
And Morgoth sent his legions,
Orc warriors with the fire-drakes,
Led by the Balrog demons.

They appeared before the gates and quickly the Gates fell,
The way was now clear, Through the Elven halls,
The orcs of such hatred poured into the breach,
With scimitars they stabbed both man and beast.

The Noldor Elf advanced with hammer of wrath,
And the kindred of the tree-bravely they fought,
The blows from their hammers, The dint of their clubs,
The orcs fell like leaves but this was not enough.

The lord of the Balrogs gathered his demons,
and made for the folk of the hammer.
They fled in terror rather than of craft,
Down in the plain they all gathered.
But a fire-drake was loosed upon them-
In the house of the hammer they died.
Still it is sung that each Elf of the hammer,
Took the lives of seven orcs to pay for their own.

Gothmog drove the dragons into the cities heart,
Orcs and Noldor fell under the confusion.
The cold-drakes began to tear the streets apart.
The Noldor began to realise the battle they'd lose.

The most beautiful city built on middle-Earth,
It's splendour was highly acclaimed'
The Noldor Elf grew mighty and strong.
In the land were Turgon reigned,
But now it lay akin to ruins,
As the fire devoured its insides,
The last hope for the Elves who lived-
Was to run and flee and hide.

But Turgon was a noble king-
"That will I not do!",
He stayed to die with the city,
The only one he knew.

. . .


The Hound of Culann, The Hound of Ulster,
He is of the otherworld,
His father is God Lugh Lamheada,
His mother Dectire is mortal.

Culann the smith was holding a feast,
For the Ard Ri Conchobhar,
His mighty Hound had been unleashed,
To guard the fortress' mighty door.

Setanta arrived late at the gates,
He did not know of Culann's Hound,
The Hound attacked and met its fate,
It lay there dead upon the ground.

Culann was nagered when he learned,
His favorite Hound was no more,
But Setanta swore he'd stay at night,
To guard the fortress' mighty door.

He took up arms on that day,
Which Cathbad declared auspicious,
He who took up arms on that day,
Would become famous but short lived.

His body begins to twist and turn,
His flesh revolves within his skin,
His features turn red one by one,
And the slaying then begins.

He returned to Eamhain Macha,
And threatened to destroy the town,
The naked women were then brought forth,
He then began to calm down,

He fell in love with Emer,
Her father was appalled,
"No warrior shall be with her
unless by Domhnall he is called".

He went to train with Domhnall,
And learned from him all that he could,
You must go and train with Scathach,
He bowed his head and said he would.

Having learned the martial arts he
returned to claim the hand of Emer.

Her father he quickly refused,
Cuchulainn showed his battle temper
He entered the fortress and left many
of the warriors dead,
Emer's father killed himself
The two lovers then were wed.
Cuchulainn, The Hound of Culann x3
He is the Son of a God.

Cuchulainn, The Hound of Culann x3
Serpents and Dragons he fought.

Cuchulainn solely defended Ulster,
During the mighty war and tain.
When Medb of Connaught invaded,
He stood his ground despite the pain.
He is called a tragic hero'
With Caladin his Sword,
He killed his best friend Frediad
at the battle of the Ford.

Cuchulainn, The Hound of Culann x3
His is the Son of a God
Cuchulainn, The Hound of Culann x3
Serpents and Dragons he fought.

In Cuchulainns final fight,
A javelin was thrown at him,
It sliced his stomach like a knife,
and caused his innards to fall out.

He staggered to a nearby lake,
Where he took a final drink.
A raven who was drinking his blood,
tripped over his intestines.

The hero gave a last great laugh,
and tied himself against a stone,
He faced his enemies standing up,
But he knew his life was quickly going.

For three days the foe were scared,
Until A crow perched on his arm,
An otter began to drink his blood,
"Cuchulainn is Dead", is what they said.


. . .


I see a battle-A blonde man,
with much blood about his belt,
and a hero-halo 'Round his head,
whole hosts he will destroy.

His jaws are settled in a snarl,
he wears a looped, red tunic,
in thousands you will yield your heads,
his form dragonish in the fray.

A giant on the plain I see,
doing battle with the host,
holding in each of his two hands
four gore ladened battle-axes.

I see him hurling against that host,
Two Gae-bolga and a spear,
he towers on the battle field,
in breastplate and red cloak.

Across the bladed chariot wheel,
the warped warrior deals death,
that fair from I first beheld,
melted to a mis-shape.
I see him moving into the fray,
take warning, watch him well,
Cuchulainn, Suailtim's son!
making dense massacre.

The blood starts from warriors wounds,
-total ruin, at his touch,
torn corpses, women wailing,
because of him-The Forge Hound


. . .


He holds a twisted torc in his hand,
the forests are his ruling land.

"Great god Cernunnos, return to Earth again,
come at my call and show thyself to men,
sheperd of goats, upon the wild hills way,
lead thy lost flock from darkness unto day".

the Horned God is our nature deity,
yet modern man would from his presence flee.

"Forgotten are the ways of sleep and night,
men seek for them, whose eyes have lost the light,
open the door, the door that hath no key,
the door of dreams, wereby men come to thee".

Sheperd of goats, O answer unto me!
The summerlands is where we shall meet thee.

To invoke thee...
The Horned God.



. . .

Brian Boru (instrumental)

[Нет текста]

. . .


On the day of the De Danann rule,
Breas ruled the pagan lands.
He led his people as a fool,
under the shadow of Balors hand.
The Tuatha De lived a life of pain,
in body and spirit their weakness grew,
as though their battle was in vain,
this can't go on the people knew.

Dagda, All father, once God and provider,
fell into disgrace with the king.
The food he recieved would not feed a spider.
-The best pieces, Cridinbel would win.
Aengus was shoked by the state of his father,
"Crindinbel must die", He did say.

He put gold in the food, and the food on the platter,
Crindinbel fell dead on that sacred day.

Nuada awoke from the otherworld dream,
his hand was forged by the gods,
water was brought from the healing stream,
"You will be king?". -He nods.

Breas journied to the Fomor lands.
And met his Fomorian father.
They held each other in their hands,
their kinship would stay hereafter.

The Il-Dana came to meet with Nuada,
the greatest hero of the Tuatha De,
The Fomor arrived for their early tax,
these savages Il-Dana did slay.

Balor declared war and sent his tribes,
Nuada prepared as did the scribes

Samhain approached and tensions were high,
Dagda went to the Fomor spy.
Breas the dishonoured led a Fomor invasion
the Il-Dana won this first battle occasion.

Back to Moytura the De Danann returned,
they set up camp and the pagan fires burned,
the first day of battle was a mighty event,
druids were chanting as the scouts forth were sent.

A great clash of shields,
cries of was frenzy,
blood fell on fields,
each warrior the enemy.

Nuada killed Indech,
the king of the Fomor,
the worm god was unleashed
with a taste for war.

Nuada raised his sword of light,
against the mighty Cromcruach,
Balor caught uhim in his sight,
Nuada died a hero's death.

But Balor to the ground was cast,
Il-Dana was the new high king,
De Danann heroes won at last,
never again to laugh and sing.

. . .


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