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Nach raibh triúr mac agam a bhí go hoilte tóigthe, Cé go mba ghearr an lón dhom iad, céad faraor géar, Mar d’fhágadar a máithrín bhocht ag sileadh deora, Chuile lá Domhnaigh is í ag gol ina ndiaidh.
Ní raibh suim ar bith agam ins an mac ab óige, Cé go mba ghearr an lón dom é Peadar fhéin, Ach is é an mac is sine acu, nach é a chráigh go mór mé, Mar mí beo ní bheidh mé le cumha ina dhiaidh.
Muise a Pheadair muirneach, a bhí go hoilte múinte, Agus a chuaigh ar chúntar a bheith níos fearr, Mar bhí gnaoi na gcomharsan ort an fhad is a bhí tú liomsa, Is nár mhaith an cúntóir thú amuigh le Seán.
Ach tá súil le Muire agam go bhfaighidh tú iomlaíocht, Agus fortún cumhachtach ó Rí na nGrást, A bhéarfas abhaile chugam thú slán ó chontúirt, Mar is mór é mo chumha i ndiaidh mo mhicín bán.
Is nach dtug mise scoil dhaoibh, agus beagán foghlaim, De réir mo chumhachta sibh a bheith níos fearr, Is nach mór a ghoilleas mo ghalar crua oraibh, Nó fébí condae a bhfuil sibh ann.
Ach dá mba i mBaile na Cille agamsa a bheadh a gcnámha, Ní bheinn chomh cráite ná a leath ina ndiaidh, Ach tá sibh liostáilte ins an arm Gallda, Níl fios bhur bpáighe agam ná bia bhur mbéil.
Is an bhfuil trua ar bith in Éirinn níos mó ná mise, I ndiaidh an chéad mhic nach é a chráigh mo chroí, Bím ag guibhe Dé agus ag iarraidh déirce air, Ach níl aon scéala ag teacht ó mhuir ná ó thír.
Is nuair a sheasaimse amach ar na cnocáin arda, Agus a fheicim na báid ag goil tríd an bhfarraige aniar, Nach mbíonn mo shúile leata agus mé ag súil go cráite, Go mbeadh mo mhaicín muirneach ar an teile thiar.
Mar is mór a ghoilfeadh bean i ndiaidh a páiste, Dá bhfaigheadh sé bás uirthi is é in aois a mhí. Is nach iomaí forránach breá lúfar láidir, Atá gaibhte thar sáile is nach bhfillfidh choíchin.
Is nach mac gan chumann thú, a mhicín muirneach, Nach dtiocfaidh ar cuairt agamsa oíche nó dhó, Tar éis gur chaith mé trí ráithe gan aon scíth do d’iompar, Agus chuaigh mé i gcontúirt leat aon oíche amháin.
Is nuair a fheicimse mná an bhaile agus a gclann in éineacht, Nach scaipeann réasún agus meabhair mo chinn, Ach tá deireadh mo sheanchais agus mo chomhrá-sa déanta, Is ní labhróidh mé arís oraibh nó go dté mé faoin bhfód.
I had not had three sons tóigthe skill, Although the lunch had me by the short, first sadly, As they left poor mother 'flowing tears, every day is Sunday weeping behind.
Was not interested in any of me in the youngest son, Who had a short lunch for me is Peter himself, however, is the eldest son of them, that it broke that I need, For months alive I will not nostalgia later .
Oh beloved Peter, was skilfully taught, and went on to be better provided, as were the neighbors love to you as long as you were with me, are not you out like the assistant to John.
But I expect that you will find Mary iomlaíocht, and powerful Fortun from King of Grace, A home made ??by me you are safe from danger, As my great sorrow after my white mhicín.
That Evening! I gave school, and little learning, By my power to be a better you, is not a big city ghoilleas my hard disease, Or are you FEBI counties there.
But if at Ballynakill bones I would, I would not be half as distressed or after, but you have enlisted in the army anglicised, not I suggest bpáighe your food or your mouths.
The pity is that in Ireland any more than me, After the first students that it broke my heart, I'm guibhe God and begging him, But there is no news coming from the sea or from land.
Sheasaimse out is when the high hills, and I see the boat was going through the sea west, not my eyes are flat and I expect that tormented, would my beloved Macken on the poop behind.
As big ghoilfeadh woman after child, would he die it is a month old. It is not strong agile many perfectly assertive, An overseas hassle choíchin not return.
Son without society is not done, mhicín beloved, not come to visit me night or two, after I spent three seasons without any rest for the carriage, and I went in one night you compromised.
And when I see the village women and their families together, not reasonably spread and mad my head, But my sheanchais end and my conversation-in made, is not I will speak again till i city or under the ground.
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