Before you edit: All changes are checked by a moderator before being published to the site and could take a few days.
Táim sínte ar do thuama agus gheobhair ann de shíor mé, Dá mbeadh barra do dhá lámh agam, ní scarfainn leat choíche, A phlúirín is a aonsearc is é am domsa luí leat, Mar tá boladh fuar na cré uait, dath na gréine is na gaoithe.
Is nuair is dóigh le mo mhuintir go mbímse ar mo leabaidh, Is ar do thuama is ea a bhím sínte ó oíche go maidin, Ag cur síos ar mo chruatan is ag cruaghol go daingean, Sí mo chailín chiúin stuama do ghluais liom ’na leanbh.
Is tá na sagairt is na bráithre gach lá liomsa i bhfearg, D’fhonn a bheith i ngrá leat, a stór mhnaoi, is tú marbh, Dhéanfainn foithin ón ngaoth duit, is díon duit ón bhfearthainn, Agus brón ar mo chroíse tú a bheith thíos ins an talamh.
Is an gcuimhin leatsa an oíche úd a bhíos-sa agus tusa, Fé bhun an chrann draighnigh, is bhí an oíche ag cur cuisne, Céad moladh le hÍosa nár dheineamar an milleadh, Is go bhfuil an choróin Mhaighdin ’na crann soilse inár gcoinne.
Is tabhair mo mhallacht dod mháithrín is ní áirimse t’athair, Is a maireann de do chairde gach lá faid a mhaireann, Nár lig dom tú a phósadh is tú beo agam id bheathaidh, Mar nach n-iarrfainn mar spré leat ach luí leat sa leabaidh.
Is tá brón ar mo chroíse atá líonta le grá dhuit, Is lionn dubh taobh thíos dó atá chomh dubh leis na hairní, Sara dtiocfaidh aon ní orm is go gcloífidh an bás mé, Ó, beadsa i mo shí gaoithe romhat thíos ar na bántaibh.
I am stretched on your grave and you will get there ever I, would bar both hands I not scarfainn you forever, A the pick as aonsearc is time for me to convince you, as a smell of cold clay you, the color of the sun is the wind.
Most are likely to my people that mbímse on my bed, on your tomb is when I am stretched from night to morning, describing my hardship is at cruaghol firmly, She's my girlfriend quiet prudent moved I was a child .
The priests are the brothers every day with me in anger, To be in love with you, dear wife, you are dead, I would wind sheltering you, are you from the rain roof, and sadness on my heart you have in the ground below.
Is the gcuimhin own the night I was-in and you, below the tree Drinagh, that was the night taking cuisne, First praise Jesus not dheineamar the destruction, is that the crown Mhaighdin 'the tree lights in against.
And give my curse to your mother, not your father áirimse, is to live every day of your friends while living, Did not you let me marry my id as you live alive, So do not you just ask for a dowry impress you in bed.
The sorrow of my heart filled with love thee, is melancholy side below him are so black with the sloes, Sara becomes nothing on me that maintains the I die, Oh, beadsa in my shí wind ahead below the bántaibh.
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.