An deoraí

The exile
Home | Tags: Sean-Nós | Submitted by Norascanlon
Do you have any further information about this song? Edit this page and help us expand this section.
Do you have any further information about this song? Edit this page and help us expand this section. ^close


English (machine translation)

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.

Warning: This is a machine translation!
Can you help us provide a proper one?


We will work out the chords for you on request.