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An chéad Mháirt d’fhómhar ba bhrónach tuirseach mo scéal, Lámh thapaidh a bhí cróga ag dul romham ar leabaidh na n-éag, Ar Charraig na nDeor is dócha gur chaill mé mo radharc, ’S go dté mé faoi fhód is ní thógfad m’aigne i do dhiaidh.
Tá do mháthair is Niall faoi chian ’s is fada leo an lá, D’fhág tú osna ina gcliabh nach leigheasann doctúir ná lia, Ar sholáthair mé ariamh is bíodh sé uilig cruinn in mo láimh, Go dtabharfainn é uaim ach fuasclú – Paidí a bheith slán.
Tá do dheirfiúracha cráite de ghnath ’s iad ag sileadh na súl, Is gan fhios cén lá go brách a n-imeochaidh a gcumhaidh, D’fhág tú d’aicme faoi smál ’s nach náir liom mar rinn’ tú an siúl. Nuair nár agair tú parthas le spás beag eile a thabhairt dúinn.
’S ba charthanach fial thú ariamh is ba sona do lámh, Agus bheifeá faoi chian mar riartha dá dtiocfadh in do dháil, Ba deismir do chiall le ’ach aon de d’aicme ar an tsráid, ’S ní mhairfeadh beo bliain i mbuaireamh in d’easpaí mar ’tá.
Is mo mhallacht go buan fá bhruach an chladaigh seo thíos, Sé a d’fhág d’aicme faoi ghruaim ’s a rinn’ gual domhsa in aice mo chroí, Sé do chur ins an uaigh, monuar, a d’fhág mise gan bhrí, Gan mhisneach gan stuaim ach mo thruaill bhocht ag imeacht le gaoith.
Órú, stadfaidh mé ag ghéarghol is dhéanfad mo ghearán le cách, Ó, a Mhuire, más féidir le d’Aonmhac a agradh gan spás, An té a fuair piolóid fá bhruach na croiche go hard, Órú, guím é anois le bheith fabhrach do Phaidí fán cháin.
Míle is ocht gcéad a léitear deimhin gan chlaon, A cúig is a sé leis an scéal sin a aithris go fíor, Ach tháinig mac Dé ’un an tsaoil lenár gceannacht go daor, ’S go dteachaidh Paidí i gcré is mo léan ní phillfidh sé choích’.
The first Tuesday of the autumn was a sad tired my story, arm quick was brave of me to go to bed at the expiry, on Rock of Tears probably lose my sight, and that I die jaw is not thógfad m ' mind behind.
Your mother Niall about them long distance as the day, Left sigh cages will not cure a doctor or physician, On I provided is always accurate either all in my hand, That I would give it but fuasclú - Paddy being secure.
Sisters are tormented ordinarily they're crying, is not ever know what their day-to gcumhaidh imeochaidh, You left a class tainted and not shame me as a tip 'you run. When invoke you paradise with little space next to us.
And should you ever generous charity that was happy to hand, and would be administered by remote as both could be bestowed, was deismir to sense a 'but one of a class on the street, and not live year duration mbuaireamh in to deficiencies as' there.
My curse is permanently under edge of the shore below, He left depressed class and tip 'coal for me near my heart, He's to be in the grave, alas, I left without meaning, without courage without my initiative but a poor wretch going with the wind.
ORU, I will stop my complaint ghéarghol that everyone will I, Oh, Lady, if your only Son to agradh without space, the recipient banks pilots under the gallows high, ORU, I wish now is to be friendly Paddy about tax.
One thousand eight hundred circulating fact without leaned, A five-six with the tale that imitated real, But came the son of God 'un all our identity so dear, And perished Paddy clay is alas not phillfidh it forever '.
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