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This is purely because Steve Rogers is of Irish descent (which I share), and the song is about star-crossed lovers. I would love an opinion on it. Also, if anyone knows if it’s official which county in Ireland the Rogers family is originally from, I’d greatly appreciate it. Writing a quasi-Christmasy story in honor of Joyce’s “The Dead.”

On to the story!


Siúil A Rún

                He was humming, singing something hesitatingly, very softly to himself, as she walked up to him, her boots crunching slightly on the new-fallen snow. She stopped and listened for a moment. It was a haunting, lilting melody, with a rising-and-falling pattern and an almost-abrupt end to each line. Peggy cocked her head. “What’s that?” Steve started and blushed, probably embarrassed at being caught.

“Oh, um… it’s an old Irish melody,” he stammered. “I was trying to remember the words.” Peggy smiled a little at his flustered expression.

“No, it’s all right,” she said. “What’s it about?”

“Lovers, separated by war. Mother used to sing it…” He looked down. “It doesn’t really suit. It’s a bit more dramatic than realistic… This time, all the women back home are fighting too. I’m sorry, Peggy, it’s just that… well, the way the wind is rattling the roof… It brought Ma back so vividly…”

“No, don’t apologize,” Peggy said. “What’s the rest like?” Steve blushed.

“I’m sorry. I really can’t—can’t sing.” She grabbed the lapel of his jacket.

“That’s what you think. Sing for me, soldier. That’s an order.” Blushing, Steve complied.

Siúil, siúil, siúil a rún

Siúil go sochair agus siúil go ciúin

Siúil go doras agus éalaigh liom

                Peggy listened quietly. Steve swallowed before going on to the next verse.

I wish I was on yonder hill

And there I’d sit and cry my fill,

And every tear would turn a mill

                “Strange…” Peggy said.

“I think that the words aim more to frame a picture than to make concrete sense.”

I’ll sell my rod, I’ll sell my reel,

I’ll sell my only spinning wheel,

To buy my love a sword of steel

                “I think the rod and reel represent her means of respectably feeding herself, and the spinning wheel means she’s giving up her only hopes for any sort of domestic peace,” Steve said thoughtfully. “These people are very poor, and they prefer concrete allusions in their poetry, rather than high, distant vague ones.” Peggy inclined her head to one side.

“I suppose it makes sense.”

I’ll dye my petticoats, I‘ll dye them red

And ‘round the world I‘ll beg my bread

Until my parents shall wish me dead

                “Does that mean she’ll be a camp follower?”

“I think she’s speaking of what will happen after her lover dies, which she fears is certain.”

Siúil, siúil, siúil a rún

Siúil go sochair agus siúil go ciúin

Siúil go doras agus éalaigh liom

Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán

                “I was wrong. This is the perfect song for now,” Peggy said.

“It doesn’t quite apply,” Steve said, inclining his head to cover his blush.

“Not to us, but there will always be tragedies in a war.” Peggy smiled. “You can sing, Captain Rogers. Don’t let anyone else ever tell you otherwise.”


Okay, still not sure about it, hopefully it’s acceptable.

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

 

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