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Is trua nach bhfuil mé in Éirinn san áit a tógadh mé i dtús mo shaoil, Ná faoi bhruach na binne móire, ná ag an Éirne lena taobh, Sin an áit a bhfaighinn an t-aos óg ann a thógfadh an brón seo is an tuirse díom, ’S dá mbeinn bliain eile arís ní b’óige go mbeinn ag goil leofa arís.
Cheannóchainnse garrdha dá n-éireochadh liom, Chuirfinn mustaird bhreá aird ann agus bláth bán ar an chrann, Chuirfinn síol coirce, síol eorna, síol a ndéantar de an lionn, ’S gurb é síol eorna na gcártaí a d’fhág an mála ar mo dhroim.
Goil fríd an bhaile dheas dom nach mé a bhí lag tinn, Is ar philleadh arís ’na bhaile dom cha raibh duine ar bith liom, Bhí mo mhuintir uilig i gcorraí liom, nuair a bíomsa amuigh go mall, Is go bhfuil fhios ag mo Mhuire mháithrín gur mar seo mar a bhí an geall.
Mar a éiríos an ghealach, nó mar a luíos an ghrian, Nó mar a théid an lán mara fá na cuantaí seo siar, B’fhearr liom ’mo luí i bhfiabhras ná bheith i bpiantaí móra báis, Ná boltaí a bheith in mo dhianchorp is iad á bhfáscadh go cruaidh.
Bliain mhór agus an t-am seo bhí mé mo chónaí i gCnoc an Sciobóil, Bhí mo theach mór á dhéanamh ag saortha istigh i gCorcaigh, Bhí mo cheann ar bharr píce le gaoth mhór mhór agus le fearthainn, Má tá roinnt agam do Mháire an Phéarla, m’anam gléigeal nach dtéann ’na bhflaitheas.
A dheartháir, a Rí na Páirte, tabhair mo chás leat uilig ’na bhaile, Mo stocaí agus mo bhróga is mo chlócaí atá dubh daite, Tabhair scéala ionsair mo mháithrín atá faoi dhólás anois sa bhaile, Go bhfuil rópa cruaidh cnáibe ag goil in áit mo charbhata.
It is unfortunate that I am not in Ireland where I was raised in the beginning of my life, not on the bank of the cliff large, or the Erne his side, That's where I find the young people there would take this sadness is the fatigue me, and again if I was another year younger that I was going leofa again.
Cheannóchainnse Garrdha their éireochadh I 'd produce fine mustard and white flower on the tree, sow seed oats, barley seed, seed which is of the depression, and that the card is barley seed left the bag on my back .
Appetites through the town south me I was not weak ill, on philleadh again 'the town I s no one was with me, was my whole family gcorraí me, when bíomsa out late, is that know my Lady mother that this was a bet.
As the moon arises, or as luíos the sun, Or as the tide goes under the previous cuantaí this, I'd 'my dying in fever or major bpiantaí be death, not bolt to be my best dhianchorp they are squeezing so hard.
Big year and this time I was live in Barnhill, was my large house doing freed within Cork, had my head on the top fork with strong wind spacious and rain, If some are my Mary the pearl, bright soul does not 'heaven.
His brother, King part, give my case you all 'of home, my socks and my shoes and my chlócaí black colored, Please notify towards him my mother under dhólás now at home, That rope hard hemp appetites rather my charbhata.
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