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Mo mhíle slán leat, a Éirinn bhán, nár bhreá an rud é an t-earrach fhéin,Ní raibh caint ar obair bossannaí ná rud ar bith mar é, Seal ag tarraingt fheamainne, ag cur fhataí is ag baint fhéir Is ní raibh fear ar bith dhá bhoichte ann é nach raibh feilm aige fhéin.
’S nuair a bhí teach agamsa ann, céad faraor níor fhan mé ann, Anois tá sé scaipthe uaim is gan blas ar bith dhá bharr, An fear a choinneodh ceart dhom é, céad faraor fuair sé bás Ach a dheartháir ó, mo bheannacht leat, sé do chliamhain atá i t’áit.
’S nach dona an rud ar chaill mé leis: deartháireachaí mo chroí, Iad ag goil go Gaillimh i gcurachín dhá gcur ó mhaidhm go maidhm, Dhá bhfanfainnse sa mbaile agaibh, an geall a bhain sibh díom, Ó, go deo ní thiocfadh clár uirthi nó go bhfaighinnse malairt saoir.
Agus d’fhág siad an caladh amach ar maidin leis an lá, Dia linn agus Muire, siad an triúr a chuaigh sa ngábh, Níl blas ar bith dár cheannaíodar nach dtáinig don Trá Bhán, Tháinig na maidí ar an duirling is an churach ar an trá.
’S bhí cion ar Pheaits is ar Tom agam is cathú mhór agam ina ndiaidh, Mo dheartháir eile Máirtín a báthadh fadó ariamh, Ach ba é Micil Bán ba mheasa liom ná a bhfacas d’fhir ariamh, Mo dhiomú don tonn bháite nár fhág sibh ina diaidh.
Is go bhfóire Dia ar na dílleachtaí a d’fhág sibh le fán, Nach mairg a cheapfadh tamall dhóibh a bheith scaipthe anonn is anall, Dhá gcuirfinn ins an reilig sibh, ní chuirfinn ann leathchás Ach sibh dá mbocáil idir farraigí is dá gcur ó aill go haill.
Is shoraidh dhíbhse a dheartháiríní, dhá dtagadh sibh i dtír, Nach gcuirfinn cónra chláir oraibh amach ó láimh an tsaoir, Chaoinfeadh mná óga an bhaile sibh, a gcleamhnaí agus a ngaoil Ach sí Bríd an bhean a chaill sibh ’s a bheas cráite lena saol.
Agus faraor géar nár cailleadh mé an lá ar baisteadh mé go hóg, Sul má fágadh i mo chadhan aonraic mé gan feithide an bhéil beo, Níl deartháir agam is níl deirfiúr agam is níl mo mháithrín beo, ’S tá mo dheaide bocht lag aosta is, a Dhia, cén t-iontas dhó.
My special goodbye, to Ireland white, not desirable that the spring itself, was not talking about work boss Annai or anything like it, Seal pulling seaweed, taking fhataí is connected grass is there was a man any two poorest farm in he was not himself.
And when the house was me there, first alas I never stayed there, now it's scattered away, not taste any two crops, the man who keeps right for me is, first sadly died But his brother from my blessing you, it's in-laws t'áit.
And not a bad thing I missed him, deartháireachaí my heart, them was going to Galway in gcurachín two being from a freak wave that defeat, Two bhfanfainnse at home you, bet how you have me, Oh, forever could not program it or that meant to get masons alternative.
And they left the harbor in the morning of the day, God is with us and Mary, they all three went in ngábh, no taste of our already purchased the White Strand had not, came the sticks on the shingle as the coracle on the beach.
And on offense I Pheaits Tom is great temptation I followed, my other brother who drowned past Martin ever, But White Micil was worse than I ever bhfacas men, My dhiomú the sunken wave you have not left a eventually.
Is God help the orphans left you wandering, not woe would consider them to be scattered while back and forth, Two in the cemetery I would take you, I would not exist leathchás But mbocáil between you two if their seas from cliff that cliff.
The shoraidh dhíbhse to dheartháiríní, two had come ye land, not Would I coffin program city out of the hand of the showings, Chaoinfeadh young women of the town you, to gcleamhnaí and of a relative But she Brigid woman lost you and which plagued their lives.
And sadly not lost me the day of baptism I am still young, Sul if left in my Brent single I without insect mouth alive, Brother I is not sisters is not my mother alive, and my dheaide poor frail elderly, God, what surprised him.
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