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Is deas an buachaill fóinteach mé lá fómhair agus earraigh, Bhainfinn féin an eorna is chuirfinn romham í arís ’na bhealaigh, Tá bláth buí ar an eorna is tá an fómhar ag gabháil ’un moille, Is tá mo chéadsearc ag gabháil romham sa ród seo is ní féidir dom á mealladh.
Is tiocfaidh smúid ar an spéir, ar an ghrian is ar an ghealaigh, Tiocfaidh dealramh ar mo shúile is ní léir domh na bealaí, Tá cuach i nGleann Éinne is ní féidir di pilleadh, Is cha scarfaidh mo ghrá go héag leat ná go dté mé is tú i dtalamh.
Is bhí céile bheag óg agam ar an bhaile údaí thall, Agus gheall sí mé a phósadh is lig mé céile mhaith tharam, Is trua nárbh é an bás a bhí ag gabháil romham ar na bealaí fada, Sula dtiompóchainn cúl mo láimhe le mo chúilín bán deas tá i bhfad ó bhaile.
Is bhí céile seal dá lua liom naoi n-uaire roimhe Shamhain, Agus uair eile ina dhiaidh sin cuireadh an ruaig uirthi as an bhaile, Más mo chéadsearc atá sibh a lua liom is nach buan dithe mairint, Más bean gan mhisneach atá sibh a lua liom, tabharaigí uaim í agus faighigí a malairt.
Is ar chuala sibh na scéaltaí a tháinig aréir againn ’na bhaile? Go bhfuil baintreach bhocht na Gréige ag teacht ar féasta go Sliabh Gallúin, Mar bhí an tailliúir beadaí bréagach ag teacht mar aoire faoina fallaing, Is bhí sé ag súgradh lena chéile mar a bheadh sé dá mealladh.
Is buachaill bocht scaite mé ag éirí amach ar maidin, Níl dhá phínn ar an tsaol agam, upon my faith tá mé folamh, Tá mo ghruaidh ar dhath na craoibhe is tá mo bhéilín ar dhath na heala, Stadaigí feasta de bhur bplé liom, is deas an féirín fear fearúil.
Is trua nach bhfuil mé sa réigiún san áit a gcónaíonn an t-iolar, Is gan aon neach a bheith i mo chóir ann ach iasc na toinne brice, Is cúig phunt a bheith sa bhliain agam is gan feidhm orm corradh.
A nice boy meaningful day I harvest and spring, would reap own the barley would put before us is again 'the way, is yellow flower of the barley is the harvest engaged' un ado, is my sweetheart accompany me in this road is not attracted to me.
And come smúid the sky, the sun on the moon, will likely my eyes is not clear to me the ways, is cuckoo Valley Anybody is not her returning, a cha vacate my love till death you that I die as you land.
Most were husband small young I have the home Udai opposite, and she promised me to marry as I let husband like past me, a pity that it was not the death that accompanied me on the long ways, Before dtiompóchainn back of my hand with my locks white is pretty far from home.
Most were husband turn his citation to nine times the previous November, and next time later was chased her out of the home, If my sweetheart are you quoting me not permanent disablement mairint, If a woman without courage you mention I, I tabharaigí it on and find a alternative.
On ye heard the stories that came last night we 'the home? That poor widow Greece coming feast Mount Gallúin, as was the tailor gourmet false coming as a shepherd under his robe, as it was play together as he would attract.
The poor boy scaite I am getting out in the morning, not two pens on the life in me, upon my faith I am empty, my hair the color of the championship as my lips colored swan, Stadaigí future of your deliberations me, nice gift manly man.
It is unfortunate that I have in the region where the eagles live, is no offender should be my only fish of the wave brick, five pounds I have in my function is not over.
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