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Mo chrá go n-éagfaidh gan mé in Éirinn ar bhánta féaracha Oileán na Saoi,Le blianta fada faoi bhrón gach tréimhse sna Státaí Aontaithe atá mé, mo dhíth, Gan aoibhneas, sólás ná suaimhneas lae ar bith, go síoraí smaoiním ar Inis Fáil, ’S mo chroí dhá réabadh i lár mo chléibhe faoi dhuifean saolta go síor á chrá.
An tráth ’rabhas i m’óglach go croíúil spóirtiúil sea bhíos faoi shólás i gcríocha Fáil, Ach tháinig athrú agus mheasas seoladh ar thóir an óir bhuí go Meiriceá, A Éire gheanúil bhoicht, céad faraor d’fhágas is thugas slán duit ó lár mo chroí, ’S gur buartha cráite a bhí m’athair ’s mo mháthairín ’s na cairde grámhara a bhíodh leo ag caoi.
Ansin sea ghluaiseas gan croí gan suairceas, ó a Dhia, níor buartha a bhíos gan fáth, Bhí an cúpla lúbach faoi bhrón ’s faoi uaigneas ’s a gcroí go buartha ina dhiaidh go brách, An mac ba mheasa leo, é ag dul thar sáile, gach slí agus fáltas dhá ghealladh dó, Is é ag fanacht leo i measc a gcairde is gan iad dhá fhágáil go síor gan só.
Anseo go cinnte agus mé i ndíbirt sea ritheann na smaointe ’shiúl oíche agus ló Den oileán bheannaithe úd taobh thall den taoille ina rabhas go haoibhinn is go síor faoi bhród, Na daoine geanúla a bhí cumhachtach bríomhar ’s na cairde dílis a bhíodh liom ag spóirt, Gach cleas is siamsa dá mbíodh sa tír úd, beidh siad ’mo chuimhne nó go dtéad faoin bhfód.
Anois a chairde ó táim go fannlag ’s nach bhfuil sé i ndán dhom a bheith aríst go deo, Ar bhánta arda nó i ngleanntáin áille an tírín bhreá úd ina rabhas go hóg, Comhairle tógaidh anois ón deoraí níl croí ná sólás anseo le fáil, Ach doilíos saolta i bhfad ó ghaolta is an croí dhá chiapadh faoi bhrón ’s faoi chrá.
Sí Éire bhreá dheas an tír is fearr liom – ní inti atáimse céad faraor géar, Tá an aimsir chiúin ann, tá an spéir gan smúit ann, tá an Ghaeilge múinte ann is í in airde a réim, Tá inti cairdeas, dea-cháil is fáilte, sé an croí a bheadh sásta i dtír na nGael, Ach táim i ndíbirt anois níl ach smaointe agus guífead choíchin dhuit, a thír na nGael.
My torment dies without me in Ireland on bhánta grassy island of Wise Men, With many years of grief every time the static States I am, my need, Without joy, comfort or ease any day on, constantly think of Inis Fail Tearing my heart and in my middle two bosom of dhuifean that supposedly plagued lives.
When 'I was in a cheerful sporting m'óglach yes I was comforted in territories under Available, But opinions have changed and address in search of the yellow gold to America, A loving Ireland poor, alas first that I left I gave my farewell to you from the center heart, and that was sadly tormented father and my Mother and loving friends who were weeping.
Then yes ghluaiseas without heart without mirth, from God, not worrying that I was without reason, was a few meandering sorrow and loneliness and their hearts to worry afterwards forever, the son worst them, going abroad, every way and promise him two receipts, is waiting for them among their friends is not to ever leave them two without luxury.
Here for sure and I'm in deportation yes runs the ideas agushiúl day and night Den island blessed in question beyond the tide which I was pleasantly as ever about pride, the people let 's been a powerful vibrant and faithful friends who were with me at sports, all trick entertains her former in that country, they will 'my memory or ropes under the spot.
Now friends of the look that fannlag and not destined for me to be again forever, On bhánta high or glens beautiful the tírín fine in question where I was that young, Council tógaidh now from exile there heart than consolation here found, But remorse lives far from relatives of two harassment heart sorrow and torment.
She Ireland love south the best country I - not her atáimse hundred sadly, the weather is quiet there, the sky is no dust there, Irish is taught there is up to prevail, is it friendship, reputation welcome, the heart would be happy landing the Irish, but I am now only expelling guífead choíchin ideas and thine, the Irish country.
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