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Ceo draíochta a sheol oíche chun fáin mé,Ar an míntír a thána chun suain, Am dhíbirt ar fud coilltibh gan áitreabh, Go rinn rosc na mBlarnan do chuas, Do shuíos-sa cois crainn ghlaise blátha, Taobh liom gur tháinig sí suas, An ríghbhean bhreá aoibhinn dob áilne, Dár shíolraigh ó Adam anuas.
A bhrídeach na mín-chrobhann mhánla, An tú Aoibheall thar an mbánchnoc aduaidh? An tú Clíodhna nó Maighre nó Áine, Bean líonrith a fuair barrcheart don tslua? Nó an fíorghort a thug tíosaigh na mBlarnan, Faoileann gurb é álainn go suairc, Nó an Stíobhart do bhí anois seal fánach, Is do bheidh arís againn in áitreabh go buan.
A shéimhfhir, ná tréigse mé choíche, Ach téanam liom síos go Tír Eoghain, Mar a bhfuil céad bruinneall maorga fé dhraíocht ann, Fé dhaorbhrataibh síoda agus sróil, Beidh pléisiúr gach lae agat is aoibhneas, Le féastaí, le fíonta is le beoir, Agus céile más mian leatsa luí léi, San aos tú a bheith críonna, beir óg.
A shéimhfhir, ní thréigfead tú choíche, Ach tabhairse spás mí dhom nó dhó, Chun go dtéad seal ag féachaint mo dhaoine, Is go ndéanfad gach crích ’chur i gcóir, An scéal seo dom ghaolta go n-insfead, Mo chéad bheannacht choíche a bheith leo, Is gan aon tsaora uaim é a dhaorchur fé luí agaibh, Má thréigim tú, a ríghbhean, im dheoidh.
Do réidheamair le chéile sa tslí seo, D’aon toil gan scaoileadh go deo, Do bhí faeiseamh an lae ag teacht ’nár dtimpeall, Is na héiníní ag síorseinm ceoil, Thug sí féachaint ró-niamhrach ó chroí orm, Do chlaon mé le saigheadaibh thar meon, Is é an scéalaí a bheir téarnaimh na hoíche, Is dá béal tanaí binn thugas póg.
Fog magical launched night to stray I, on the mainland to Thana asleep, Time expelled throughout woods without premises, to Cape cod mBlarnan dish, Your shuíos-in addition to trees green flowers, Side I have come up, the ríghbhean would love lovely love, of descend from Adam down.
A bride of fine chrobhann gentle, Have you Aoibheall over the mbánchnoc guard? Have you Clíodhna or Maighre or Anne Bean alarmed got barrcheart the crowd? Or fíorghort gave tíosaigh the mBlarnan, Faoileann is the beautiful chanting, Or now turn Stíobhart was trivial, is to again be our permanent premises.
A shéimhfhir, than tréigse be forever, But Come with me down to Tyrone, For a hundred bruinneall majestic enchanted place, Under dhaorbhrataibh silk and satin, will be a pleasure every day you have joy, With feasts, with wines to beer, and husband if you want to impress her, San people you have wisely, young fetch.
A shéimhfhir not desert you, you never, But tabhairse space months for me or him, To ropes while to see my people, is that ndéanfad each territory 'to render, the story my relatives that insfead, My first blessing ever to they have, is no I tsaora dhaorchur subject to impress you, If you thréigim, which ríghbhean, ultimately butter.
For réidheamair together in this way, has unanimously without release forever, for the day was coming faeiseamh 'not around, is the héiníní at síorseinm music, gave her view too I sincerely greater brilliance, for I leaned saigheadaibh over sentiment, is the narrator devotes recovery of the night, is its thin mouth kiss sweet accords.
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