Before you edit: All changes are checked by a moderator before being published to the site and could take a few days.
’S nach mé an trua Mhuire ag dul Carraigín an Fhásaigh, Ag gol is ag gárthaíl is ag déanamh bróin, Ag oiliúint mo linbh ar bhacán mo láimhe, ’S gan fiú an braon bainne agam a thabharfainn dó; Níl mé ach go tréithlag níl maith dhá shéanadh, Níl mé ar aon nós ach mar an gceo, Tá fuil mo chroí istigh dhá sú ina braonta, ’S, a Dhia, cén t-ionadh ’ndiaidh mo Shail óg rua.
Mo ghrá do bhéilín nár chum na bréaga, Agus do mhéin dheas nach raibh ag bean le fáil, Do dhá chíoch ghléigeal’ le do leanbh bán a bhréagadh, A stór ní féidir liom tú a thabhairt ón mbás; B’fhearr liom, ó, mór mór i mo dhiaidh sa ród í, Ag bleán na bó dhom nó i mbun an tí, Ná saibhreas Sheoirse is é fháil le stróinse, ’S gur faoi na fóid a chuir mé stór mo chroí.
In Oileán Éadaigh a fuair mé fhéin í, An bhean ar léi a lig mé mo rún ’s mé óg, Tá triúr ar aon chéill ag gol i do dhiaidhse, ’S bean mo bhréagtha mo léan faoin bhfód; In aois a sé déag sea fuair mé fhéin í, ’S nár dheas an féirín í ag fear le fáil, Ach, a stór mo chléibh, is tú d’fhág liom féin mé, Is chuaigh tú i gcré uaim is tú i do chailín óg.
And I pity Lady going Carrigeen the Desert, Crying is at gárthaíl is making grief, At training my child bhacán my hand, and without even a drop of milk I would give it; I'm just weak not good two denial, I do not anyway but as the fog, my blood has a heart two drops of juice, 'S, God, what shocked' after my young red heel.
I love your lips lies not invented, and for southern humor woman was not found, Your two breasts And bright 'your baby white beguiled, A treasure you can give me from death; I prefer, from, especially in the road behind her, at the cow milking me or in the house, not wealth George is stróinse get, and that under the sod I put my heart repository.
In Islandeady got myself is, the woman on her to let my secret and I'm young, has three no sense crying in your dhiaidhse, And woman my bhréagtha my sorrow about the spot; in the age of sixteen yes I got it self, and the gift is not right for a man to, But, dear my heart, as you left me alone, are you went away, you clay in a young girl.
SongsInIrish.com is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com or amazon.co.uk.