Máire Ní Mhongáin

Marie Mongan
Home | Tags: Sean-Nós | Submitted by DaithiOG
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Irish

English (machine translation)

I had not had three sons tóigthe skill,
Although the lunch had me by the short, first sadly,
As they left poor mother 'flowing tears,
every day is Sunday weeping behind.

Was not interested in any of me in the youngest son,
Who had a short lunch for me is Peter himself,
however, is the eldest son of them, that it broke that I need,
For months alive I will not nostalgia later .

Oh beloved Peter, was skilfully taught,
and went on to be better provided,
as were the neighbors love to you as long as you were with me,
are not you out like the assistant to John.

But I expect that you will find Mary iomlaíocht,
and powerful Fortun from King of Grace,
A home made ??by me you are safe from danger,
As my great sorrow after my white mhicín.

That Evening! I gave school, and little learning,
By my power to be a better you,
is not a big city ghoilleas my hard disease,
Or are you FEBI counties there.

But if at Ballynakill bones I would,
I would not be half as distressed or after,
but you have enlisted in the army anglicised,
not I suggest bpáighe your food or your mouths.

The pity is that in Ireland any more than me,
After the first students that it broke my heart,
I'm guibhe God and begging him,
But there is no news coming from the sea or from land.

Sheasaimse out is when the high hills,
and I see the boat was going through the sea west,
not my eyes are flat and I expect that tormented,
would my beloved Macken on the poop behind.

As big ghoilfeadh woman after child,
would he die it is a month old.
It is not strong agile many perfectly assertive,
An overseas hassle choíchin not return.

Son without society is not done, mhicín beloved,
not come to visit me night or two,
after I spent three seasons without any rest for the carriage,
and I went in one night you compromised.

And when I see the village women and their families together,
not reasonably spread and mad my head,
But my sheanchais end and my conversation-in made,
is not I will speak again till i city or under the ground.

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