Buachaill Ón Éirne / A Boy from the Erne

Buachaill ón Éirne mé‘s bhréagfainn féin cailín deas óg,
Ní iarrfainn bó spré léi tá mé féin saibhir go leor,
‘S liom Corcaigh ‘á mhéid é dhá taobh an ghleanna ‘s Tír Eoghain,
‘S mura n-athraí mé béasa ‘smé‘n t-oidhr’ ar Chontae Mhaigh Eo.

Rachaidh mé ‘márach a dhéanamh leanna fán choill,
Gan choite, gan bhád, gan gráinnín brach’ ar bith liom,
Ach duiliúr na gcraobh mar éide leap’ os mo chionn,
‘S óró sheacht m’anam déag thú’s tú féachaint orm anall.

Buachailleacht bó mo leo nár chleacht mise riamh,
Ach ag imirt ‘s ag ól ‘s le hógmhná deasa ón sliabh;
Má chaill mé mo stór ní móide gur chaill mé mo chiall,
Is ní mó liom do phóg ná ‘n bhróg ‘táim a caitheamh le bliain

A chuisle ‘s a stór ná pós an seanduine liath,
Ach pós an fear óg, mo leo, mura maire sé ach bliain,
Nó beidh tú go fóill gan ó nó mac os do chionn
A shilfeadh aon deoir tráthnona nó ‘r maidin go trom.

I am a boy from the Erne and I would deceive a fair young girl,
I would not ask for a dowry with her, for I am wealthy enough,
All of Cork is mine, as well as both sides of the glen and Tyrone,
And if I do not change my ways, I am the heir to County Mayo.

Tomorrow I will go to brew ale in the woods,
Without a boat, without a ship, without a single grain of malt,
Only the leaves of the trees as a bedclothes over me,
And oh, my seventeen souls, if only you’d gaze upon me from afar.

Herding cattle was never my way,
But rather playing and drinking and being with fair young women from the hills;
If I have lost my love, it does not mean I have lost my senses,
And I care no more for your kiss than for the shoe I’ve been wearing for a year.

Oh, my pulse and my treasure, do not marry the grey old man,
But marry the young man instead, even if he only lives a year,
Or else you will still be without a son or a child,
To shed even a single tear for you, in the evening or morning, in sorrow.