Fuaireas féirín lá aonaigh ó bhuachaill deas
Agus céad póg an lá ina dhiaidh sin ó leon na bhfear,
Scalladh cléibh ar an té a déarfadh nach tú mo shearc,
A bhuachaill ghléigil is breáth’ in Éirinn is go n-éalóinnse leat.
Agus síleann céad fear gur leo féin mé nuair a ólaim leann;
Ní airím iad nuair a smaoiním ar a gcomhrá liom.
A choim is míne ná an síoda atá air Shliabh na mBan Fionn,
Is tá mo ghrása, ó, mar bhláth na n-airní ar an draighneán donn.
Is más ag imeacht taoi, beir mo bheannacht leat is go dté tú slán,
Mar nár imís nó gur bhrisis an croí seo i mo lár.
Níl coite agam go leanainn tú, long nó bád,
Is go bhfuil an fharraige ina tonnta eadrainn is ní heol dom snámh.
Agus a Dhé dhíl, cad a dhéanfad má imíonn tú uaim?
Cé a bhéarfaidh eolas chun do thí dhom má thagaim ar cuairt?
Sneachta síolmhar a bheith dá shíorchur agus mise faoi ghruaim,
Mná na hÉireann ag déanamh géim díom is mo ghrá i bhfad uaim.
Ó is mairg a théann ag allagar le crann mór ard
Nuair a d’fhág sé crann íseal a shroichfeadh a lámh,
Mar dá mb’airde é an crann caorthainn bíonn sé searbh ina lár,
Agus fásann úlla agus géaga cumhra ar an chrann is ísle bláth. |
I received a present from a fine lad on a market day
And the next day a hundred kisses from a lion among men.
A heart-scald on all who deny that you are my love,
My bright boy, Ireland’s best, I would run away with you.
And when I drink ale a hundred men think I am theirs alone;
But I don’t heed them when I recall how they spoke to me.
Your skin is finer than the silk on Sliabh na mBan Fionn,
And my love is like the sloe-blossom on the bare blackthorn.
If leave you must, take my blessing and may you always thrive,
Though you did not go before breaking the heart in my breast.
I have no skiff to follow you, neither ship nor boat,
The waves of the sea are between us and I cannot swim.
O loving God, what will I do if you abandon me?
Who will lead me to your house if I come to see you?
The driven snow falls ever more heavily and I am sick at heart,
The women of Ireland mock me and my love is far away.
Why contend foolishly with the great high tree
And neglect that which is within your reach.
However tall the rowan may be, its fruit is bitter,
But apples and fragrant blossoms grow on the lowly bough. |
