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Tá Ceann Trá gan cheol gan rince, Is tá Bun Trasna ag sileadh agus ag síorghol, I ndiaidh na dtrí Máire dob fhearr a bhí i nDuibhneach, Ach sí Máiréad amháin do chráigh mo chroíse, Is b’fhuirist aithint domsa ar chasadh na taoille, Go dtitfeadh iarmsa in iarthar Dhuibhneach, An ghaoth aduaidh a loisc na mílte, A chuir sceimhle agus scanradh i gcroí na ndaoine.
Is fuar an leabaidh a ceapadh chun suain daoibh, Sínte ins an ghaineamh is an fharraige bhur luascadh, Báid fé chrannaibh is fearaibh bhur gcuardach, Is beo ná marbh ní bhfuarthas a dtuairisc, Ní le méid bhur gceannais ná le gradam do bhur muintir, Fé ndeara dom féin bhur mbréithre a dh’insint, Mar bhíobhair grámhar, mánla, mín-tais, ’S ar fuaid na dtonn, ó mo lom, sibh sínte.
Ventry is no music without dancing, is a flowing Bottom Cross and síorghol, after the three were Mary were better in nDuibhneach, But Margaret She only broke my heart, is the recognition b'fhuirist me on the turn of the tide, fall iarmsa west Kerry, the north wind that burned thousands, a terrified and fear in the hearts of people.
Cold the bed designed to rest to you, Extension in the sand as the sea your swing, Boats under chrannaibh most men of your search, is alive or dead was not a report, not the size of your gceannais than prestige for your family, Fé I noticed that dh'insint mbréithre your own, as bhíobhair loving, gentle, smooth-moist, and throughout the waves from my bare, ye stretched.
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