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.

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