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AmhránMuise lá breá a ndeachaigh muid ag breathnú ar an ríoghan mhná, B’iúd í ainnirín na maille-rosc is na míngeal breá, Bhí a grua thrí lasadh léi mar bhreacann an t-aol mar bhláth, Is a seang-chom ealaí le go searcfainn léi gach síorlinn ann.
Tá siúd aici dar Peadar más fíor le rá, Rós-bhéilín meala le caiseal is le caoingheal cnáimh, A modh-chom cailce taobh-shneachta a chuir na mílte chun báis, Théis dhúinn í fheiceáil sea bhreathnaigh muid an ní seo a rá.
Seachrán
Sé an ní a bhreathnaíos féin ansiúd, mar a smaoiním mo bhriathra is mar a bhearraim mo mheanma: dá dtugainnse an tsaint sin de ghrá seirc nó síor-ghrinn go ndéanfaí braon báis nó mionamhail de mo chorp ainneoin mo chraicinn orm.
Amhrán Muise ar arraingeacha agallta dhom nó pianta báis, Mar tá mé do mo stangadh ag an arraing ’tá ag gabháil thrí mó lár, B’fhearr liom seal fada a bheinn ag breathnú ar a mínchnis breá Ná bheith á bréagadh go maidin cé gur baoisiúil dom, a léithéide a rá.
Níor bhaoisiúla dhomsa a léithéide a rá ná d’Fhionn Mhac Cumhaill, Mhac Airt, Mhac Thréanmhóir Uí Bhaoiscne, a chuaigh ag tomhais na léime binne brice bua a bhí ar an mBinn Éadain Mhic Éadghaoith, Mhic Amhlaidh, san áit a dtáinig an chéad long is an chéad laoch go hÉirinn ariamh.
Amhrán Tabhair scéal uaim chuici agus aithris di nach taobh léi atáim, Go bhfuil sin bean eile údan le fada do mo chloí le grá, A bhfuil lán domhan doinne ins gach buinne dá dlaoi-fholt breá Nó an bhfuil sibh ina gcodladh nó an miste díbh m’fhorscéal fháil.
Ar seo agus ar siúd sé an forscéal a bhí ansiúd ná triúr bodachaí a bhí ag Cairbre Mhac Aoidh, a dhóigh a gcuid móna i dtús geimhridh agus i ndeireadh earraigh, gan aon mhaide coille a bheith acu. Chuadar ag iarraidh cead coille ar Chairbre. Thug sé sin dóibh. Chrochadar leo a dtrí tuannaí chúl-tanaí bhéal-ramhra. Dhearmadar an tapa, thugadar an mí-thapa leo, bhriseadar na giarsaí agus ligeadar na maidí rámha leis an sruth.
Amhrán Ba í siúd ainnirín na mín-chruth bán, Ag imirt an chluiche údan go hacmhainneach síos as láimh, Bhí pínn ins an maide aici is dhá leithphínn eile anuas ar an gclár, Gan obadh ó aon chluiche ó oíche nó go n-éiríodh an lá, Mná na cruinne ar fad is bídís sin ar m’aon taobh an chláir, Ba tusa féin mo thogha is mo roghain, más mian leat m’fháil.
Láimh m’athar is mo mháthar is maith an t-ádh nach mbím sise.
Amhrán Bímse lá i m’easpag i gCaiseal is i gcianta cách, Mar rí ar gach cleasaíocht go hacmhainneach sea bhím gach lá, Lá breá eile is gan agam ach mo phíce i mo láimh Siar ó choir chathaithe ag caitheamh ó! mo dhíslí ar clár.
Ba bheag an fáth a bhí dhomsa an dís údan a chatheamh, murach a olc ’s a imrím an bua. Bua ar sheasair tucar tacar táipléis óir. Lá dá rabhas fhéin is an rósbhéalach ag imirt cluiche fón eang rua, bhí triúr ar chaladh, triúr ar dhoras. Tháinig treall dhona thubaisteach de mhuintir an tí isteach. Dúirt an doras a dhúnadh. D’imir beart an cleas i m’aghaidh. Dá mbeinn ansin go brách is ní iarrfainn maide.
Amhrán Is go droim átha na tubaiste sea casadh mise i dtír gan snámh, Fear na tuaí giorra nach seinneann ó de chum-dheas dán, D’ionsaigh dís eile an tSionainn thrí Luimneach siar le fán, Is nach trua-ghéar sin duine a bheith in eileatram a bhí inné beo slán.
Hibill-heabaill, giorrán capaill, easpag ceannann agus call air.
Amhrán Bímse lá beag eile a mbíonn mallacht ó gach pápa i mo dhiaidh, Faoi mo bhean agus mo leanbh is mo bhanaltra bheith in ann a gcliar, Dheamhan sin gort socair nach i bhfogas dhó tá móinín fraoigh Is dheamhan sin loch ar bith gan abhainn a bheith ag gabháil uaithi síos, Tá an reithe seo ina shodar is níl aon chónaí faoi, Is ní minic a tháinig sonas gan an donas a bheith ina orlaí thríd.
Song Ah fine day we went to look at the queen women B'iúd young maiden is well-míngeal cod is the love, was her cheeks ablaze as plotted by the lime blossom, is a slender-waist with swans that she searcfainn every moment of it.
Peter says, she who is real if to say, Rose-mouth is a honey caiseal caoingheal bone, A-mode white waist-snow by the thousands to death, seen by us is seeing the sea we looked not say this.
Lost
It bhreathnaíos not own the hem, as I think my words are as bhearraim my spirit: his greed dtugainnse of love or constant depth of love that death or mionamhail drops of my body despite me my skin.
Song
Ah on arraingeacha agallta pains me or death, as I have for my shocked by the arraing 'is accompanied by three more middle, I'd spent a long time that I would look at mínchnis love not being coaxed that morning while foolish me, léithéide say.
Dhomsa bhaoisiúla léithéide not to say neither of Fionn Mac Cool, Art Son, O Son Thréanmhóir Bhaoiscne, went cliff jumping by measuring the brick win was the son Éadghaoith Fascia Peak, son .so, where the first ship came the first warrior ever to Ireland.
Give story from me to her and tell her that side of her I am, That another woman yon long for my adherence to love, With many world brown in each nozzle of its lock-maid love Or are you asleep or the mind of you m'fhorscéal get.
On and on it forscéal those who were there not three bodachaí was Cairbre Mac McKee, a way to their first turf in late winter and spring, without any of them stick of timber. They went on Carbery forest permit. This brought them. They took with them their three axes behind thin mouth-very thick. Quickly forgot, they gave them the fast month, broke the joists and pretended the oars with the flow.
was the young maiden of finely-shaped white, Playing the game skillfully down hand, had pens in the stick her two leithphínn another addition to the program, Refusing any game from the night or that halted the day, women of the whole universe is on whether the program m'aon side, you'd think my choice, if you want m'fháil.
My father and my mother's hand like the lucky she'm not.
Bímse day in m'easpag in Cashel is in everyone ages, as king of all trickery I am every day, Another fine day without my phíce I just in my hand from the sin of chathaithe wearing! dies on my program.
There was little reason for the pair dhomsa chatheamh yon, but I play bad and win. Tucar sheasair win gold táipléis set. Day two is the self I was playing rósbhéalach indent red phone game, had three of the harbor, three door. Misfortunate crew met the people in the house. Said closing the door. Measure the trick played against me. If I ever then not request a stick.
Song is back ford disaster that I happened to land without swimming, Man Tuai can sing short-sleeve south of poem, attacked another pair Shannon Limerick previous three wandering, is not very sharp pity that person in a hearse yesterday was alive and well.
Hibill-heabaill, nag, a bald bishop and call him.
Song Bímse day little else that curse from Pope after me, Under my wife and my child and my nurse be able to answer them poetically, swear that field calm that approximates twice a Moneen grouse is a demon that lake without any river accompany her down, is this a shodar ram is living there under, is often not without bitterly happiness came to an inch through him.
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