The sadness of the death, not black my heart,
He kidnapped my love away, I left exhausted,
Without friends to a companion Thise under my roof,
But my middle child and I both cry.

And walking the mountain dew tráthnóinín me,
speaks to me of that sad birds,
speaks the peak of the Curlew naosc loud,
telling me that my darling died.

I spoke to you and I heard no voice,
and I spoke to you again and I did not answer,
to kiss your lips is, God, would not it cold
But your bed is cold in the lonely cell.

Death and grief, denial is not difficult,
as it comes close and accurately together,
and a nice white Macken, I crucified thee not,
is your body as she chaomh créafóig '.

Lie back in the green grave now, his children,
as he is not only the short sleep the long sleep,
as you left me forever and my head hidden
At the tears silt or till I land.

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