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Bhíos-sa maidin shamhraidh ag góilt síos trí Chontae an Chláir Agus éanlaith coille ag labhairt liom ar an gcrann is iad ag siúinseáil, Sea do chasadh liomsa an ansacht ba bhreátha is ba dheise snua, ’Gus thugas searc is greann di, i dtaobh m’amhrais sí bláth na n-úll.
Maidin aoibhinn uaibhreach ar bhruach na coille glaise breá, Is mo ghadhair le m’ais ag gluaiseacht go huasal is mo ghunna im láimh, Sea do dhearcas chughamsa stuairín na gruaige finne is an bhrollaigh bháin, Agus ábhar an bhinse buainte aici den luachair ba ghlaise fás.
’S do dh’fhéachas ar na cuanta agus bhí ann uaigneas agam dar nóin, Is do dhruideas suas lem stuairín agus fuaireas uaithi cúpla póg, Ach sé dúirt sí liom go huaibhreach, ‘Fan suanmhar is ná cuir orm stró, ’Gus ná scaip mo bhinse luachra tréis a bhfuaireas dá thrioblóid.’
‘Is, a chailín bhig na luachra, dá leagfása do bheart ar lár, Ar bhruach na coille craobhaí nó ag éisteacht le fuaim na trá, Mar na sagairt ní bhfaighidh scéala air ná éinne eile dá bhfuil san áit, Nó go dtiocfaidh an chaint don chéirseach ’s go n-iompóidh an lon dubh bán.
‘Ó, cailín deas ab fhearr liom a bheith ar láimh liom thar a bhfeacaíos riamh, ’Gus dá bpósfainn cailleach ghránna, mo lánchreach ná mairfinn bliain, Ach phósfainn thusa, a ghrá ghil, a chúil fáinneach na dtrioplaí siar, Is do bhainfinnse binse breá duit chún álainn is a chonaic tú ariamh.
‘Is, a chailín bhig na luachra, glac suaimhneas agus fan go réidh, Mar ní cás duit a bheith chún buartha in uaigneas is tú leat féin, Mar má scaip mé do chuid luachra, nach dual go bhfuil mórchuid tar éis, Agus bainfeadsa binse mór dhuit agus ualach mar thuilleadh léi.’
Is ba dheas an cailín seomra í um thráthnóna is a bruis ’na láimh, Is cár dheise ná crú na mbó í, sí smóilín í an bhrollaigh bháin, Do thairringeodh samplaí coróinneach go róbhreá ar éadach cláir, Sí searc mo chroí is mo rún í, sí mo stuairín í go bhfaighidh mé bás.
I was-in a summer morning góilt down through County Clare and poultry woodland speaking to the trees that are siúinseáil, Yes to turn me the ansacht proudest most of prizes snua, and I gave true love humor her, as I ' she doubt apple flower.
Proud delightful morning on the banks of the wood perfectly green, is my dogs a noble m'ais moving my hand and my gun, Yes to chughamsa stuairín sees the fairness hair is white breast, and she harvested material of the tribunal rushes greener growth.
And dh'fhéachas the existing harbors and I feel lonely noon, is for my stuairín dhruideas up and got a couple kiss her, But she told me that it huaibhreach, 'Wait and do not add me suanmhar ease, and not scatter my bench Receiving after National rushes to his trouble. '
'It is, a little girl of rushes, two leagfása to measure a center, on the banks of the wood Cruagh or listening to the sound of the beach, as the priests will not hear it than anyone else the place, Pending the speech for thrush and turns back the white blackbird.
'Oh, nice girl I'd prefer to hand me over to bhfeacaíos ever, and both bpósfainn wicked witch, my lánchreach than survived years, But marry you, my true love, a rear ring of dtrioplaí back, is your I would bench love you are beautiful to you ever saw.
'It is, a little girl of rushes and feel yourself and stay smooth, as not a case you have to worry in solitude as you yourself, as if scatter me your rushes, not natural that many have, and bainfeadsa bench thee great and further burden for her. '
Is it was a girl's room was in the evening as Bruis his hand, as to where Opportunity than milking the cow is, a thrush The breast white, Your thairringeodh examples Crown that róbhreá clothing programs, Her true love of my heart and my confidence, she is my stuairín I die.
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