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Is a bhruinneall gan smál a bhfuil an dealramh deas in do ghrua, Sé an buachaillín bán ab fhearr liom seal leat dá lua, ’S ní cheilfidh mé ar chách fios m’ábhair ’s go bhfuil mé faoi ghruaim Ach d’ainneoin feara Fáil sí mo ghrá geal bean an fhir rua.
’S nuair a théimse thart síos, bím i bpríosún ceangailte crua, Boltaí ar mo chaola is na mílte glas as sin suas, Mar thabharfainnse an síobh mar a thabharfadh an eala thar cuan, Nó go sínfinn mo thaobh seal síos le bean an fhir rua.
’S tabhair litir uaim scríofa síos go baile cois cuain, Ag an gcailín beag caoin an bhfuil an chaor uirthi ag lasadh ina grua, Mar scriosann sí an Traoi is tá na mílte fear léithi dhá lua, Ach glac misneach, a Bhríd, ’s ní baol duit feasta an fear rua.
Is nár thé mé den saol seo choíche is nár chaillfidh mé an greann, Nó go mbeidh mé is mo mhian seal sínte faoi bharra na gcrann, Gan aon neach beo bheith inár ngaobhar ach an choill fraoigh ’gus duilliúr na gcraobh, Agus an fear rua a bheith sínte i gCill Bhríde agus leac ar a cheann.
Bhruinneall spotless as is the nice appearance of your cheeks, He preferred the white boy I turn you both mention, and I have all indicated conceals m'ábhair and I'm miserable But despite her my grasses Available beloved wife of the red men.
And when I go around down, I'm in prison attached hard, bolts on my slender thousands of green then up, as thabharfainnse the síobh would give the swan over basin, Or sínfinn my side turn down a woman the man's red.
And give my letters written down town harbor, at the little girl cry of the berries she lit his cheeks, as devastating the Trojan is thousands man of formally two mention, But take courage, Bridget, and risk you no longer the red man.
It is not tea I of this world forever is not I shed the humor, Or I have my desire spell stretched bar the trees, No living thing being in the vicinity but the wood grouse and leaves of the branches, and the man red stretched Kilbride and slab on his head.
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