Traditional to Joyce Country in the morning,
on a visit to my dearest darling is never ever chasfad,
Let your yellow flower on the barley that dtosaí the harvest was going to witness,
is not perfectly nice to her the youth after my darling's yours.

'My dhílleachtín plagued yes I was left without a father,
and if my chliú destined me who owned case me be empty,
no man in Ireland would by my model,
not been a difficult two to make do wept at all to the heavens.

Up at the edge of the mountain is the pearl which charms me,
boy with fair hair and fáthadh the smile under his hat,
and he promised he'd kiss my rosy-lips honey,
But I can not see the road, the tears are my blinded .

Is aware that many people think of a difficult
At my mind each night on my bed,
But if Fortun facing me is that I have not wept provide otherwise,
Join me at the crossroads and we'll married before the morning.

A long grass and in glens beautiful far from home,
A is apples and sloes there grown crops of masts,
does not matter to me what anyone says, it is not my sweetheart who says, nothing,
Where is your mother's behind me, blood her heart out on the hearth slab.

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