English (machine translation)
Beautiful soft morning in the Bay of Scealg,
Going bound to Mass loving God,
arose in the sea too big tsuaill,
With rain bustling wind rose,
Your crew wondered, and obey met,
Doing past the harbor to Valentia,
when the man shouted led, from my slumber to phreabas-in,
for I was-in my sleep that I raised for.
While chífeadh the boat drowned the mornings whom
he thrust a stick on it, that would be high it jumped,
When we let hemp as guards oar her,
All program by tapping, is a race as pillars,
Your dheineamar steering her course drawing,
Streams pushing the hanartan place,
did not sway the course of previous Robust buoy,
Till we reached the Holy Rock high locked.
Logs Rock sow was a scream coming
on home devouring us in relation to our left,
Way is neigh for the next game which as a bull,
is of course, the complainants did not cry moisture.
First praise to Jesus Christ we have not lost,
is we were not stretched in ocean depths,
But again dtige fanam the valiant,
And in the house fleagan ólfaimíd Shane O'Neill.
Warning: This is a machine translation!
Can you help us provide a proper one?