'Who is that out with the edge of his voice
beating on my closed door?'
"I am Ned of the hill, drowned, cold and wet
From crossing mountains and valleys.'
'My young boy, my love, what should I do with thee
If I could dress you in my clothes,
The heavy snow would shield us both,
From being discovered and extinguished!'

'Miss yours out about snow is frost,
could not be free I no none,
My sheisreach without ceasing, my fallow without,
Without them I any event,
not friends to me, that grieves me that
would take me early or late
and I must go over seas east,
Since there is not any of my relatives. '

Oh, associations and trove, since I will turn
Sub choilltí by depression of the dew
as I get the bee
Or the numbers of nests,
the deer is the puck at búireach,
The héiníní cliff on ghéagíní playing
and the chuaichín on because the green yew,
never ever shall not die in laughter
Oh, along the fragrant wood.

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