The Stone in the Field

by Gian Castello

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about

This cd was released in 1997 thanks to the collaboration between Gian Castello and the English harper Steve Haggerty, along with other Italian musicians.

credits

released January 1, 1997

Gian Castello: concert flute, tin whistle, dulcimer, arrangement
Steve Haggerty: Celtic harp, hammered dulcimer, guitar
Daniel Ponte: guitar, tin whistle, arrangement in Brian Boru’s March and Bard of armagh
Angela Carravieri: bodhrán
Lorenza Vaccaro: violin
Enrico Cotella: keyboards
Recorded and mixed by Marco Canepa at Orange Studio – Genova - Italy

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about

Gian Castello Drumshanbo, Ireland

Gian Castello studied Irish flute with various Irish teachers (John Lee, Donegal, and legendary Micho Russell, Clare).
He has produced four concept albums ("Merlin the Enchanter", "Taliesin", "The Secret Kingdoms", "Rama, the primordial Druid"), one CD ("The Stone in the Field") with the English harper Steve Haggerty and "To Drive the Cold Winter Away", Italian/Irish production.
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Track Name: Brian Boru's March (Irish trad)
Oh, where, Kincora! is Brian the Great?
And where is the beauty that once was thine?

Oh, where are the princes and nobles that sate
At the feast in thy halls, and drank the red wine?
Where, oh, Kincora?
Oh, where, Kincora! are thy valorous lords?
Oh, whither, thou Hospitable! are they gone?
Oh, where are the Dalcassians of the Golden Swords?3
And where are the warriors Brian led on?
Where, oh, Kincora?
And where is Murrough, the descendant of kings—
The defeater of a hundred—the daringly brave—
Who set but slight store by jewels and rings—
Who swam down the torrent and laughed at its wave?
Where, oh, Kincora?
And where is Donogh, King Brian's worthy son?
And where is Conaing, the Beautiful Chief?
And Kian, and Corc? Alas! they are gone—
They have left me this night alone with my grief!
Left me, Kincora!
And where are the chiefs with whom Brian went forth,
The ne'er-vanquished son of Evin the Brave,
The great King of Onaght, renowned for his worth,
And the hosts of Baskinn, from the western wave?
Where, oh, Kincora?
Oh, where is Duvlann of the Swift-footed Steeds?
And where is Kian, who was son of Molloy?
And where is King Lonergan, the fame of whose deeds
In the red battle-field no time can destroy?
Where, oh, Kincora?

And where is that youth of majestic height,
The faith-keeping Prince of the Scots?—Even he,
As wide as his fame was, as great as was his might,
Was tributary, oh, Kincora, to thee!
Thee, oh, Kincora!
They are gone, those heroes of royal birth,
Who plundered no churches, and broke no trust,
'Tis weary for me to be living on earth
When they, oh, Kincora, lie low in the dust!
Low, oh, Kincora!
Oh, never again will Princes appear,
To rival the Dalcassians of the Cleaving Swords!
I can never dream of meeting afar or anear,
In the east or the west, such heroes and lords!
Never, Kincora!
Oh, dear are the images my memory calls up
Of Brian Boru!—how he never would miss
To give me at the banquet the first bright cup!
Ah! why did he heap on me honour like this?
Why, oh, Kincora?
I am Mac Liag, and my home is on the Lake;
Thither often, to that palace whose beauty is fled,
Came Brian to ask me, and I went for his sake.
Oh, my grief! that I should live, and Brian be dead!
Dead, oh, Kincora!