English (machine translation)
Is Rose, do not you regret under thee success,
have you found your pardon from Rome all,
is your brother in Germany and journeyed across the sea,
and not spared the Spanish wine to my Little Black.
It is not long prevail I let her from yesterday to today,
walking the mountains and meadow is no none I,
Lough Erne as I threw a jump is that while it needs to flow,
and that is the radius of the sun on each side me my Roisin Dubh.
Had I seisreach nice not to thrust against the hills,
I would preach from the altar as stipulated for me,
I would let little kiss the girl to hóighe me,
and I would make a nice trick behind the waterfall with my Little Black.
My Rose bright lúthmhar far side of the stream,
Zone of the prince clasped her waist center,
Rear hair is sweeping valleys of heather,
and scaoiligí damnóidh over her or she of all orders.
The dew siúlfainn not you and the top of the hills,
As eye as to obtain a resolution or part of you please,
A small branch composed, you not told me that you love me,
is do not let that lapse shining soul I my Little Black.
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