Tá bliain is níos mó agam ag éisteacht
Le cogar doilíosach mo mheoin
Ó casadh liom grá gheal mo chléibhe
Tráthnóna beag déanach sa bhfomhar
Bhí an bhó bhainne cumhra ag géimeach
Is na héanlaith go meidhreach ag ceol
ar bhruach an t-srutháin ar leath-taobh dom
Bhí cailín deas crúite na mbó
Tá a súile mar lonradh na gréine
Ag scaipeadh tré spéarthaibh an cheoidh
Is is deirge a grua ná na caortha
Ar lasadh i measc craobha na gcnoc
a béilÌn níos milse ná sméartha
Is is gile ná leamhnacht a snó
Níl ógbhean níos deise sa tsaol so
Ná cailín deas crúite na mbó
Dá bhfaighinnse árd Tiarnas na hÉireann
Éadacha, síoda is sróil
Dá bhfaighinnse an bhanríon is airde
Dá bhfuil ar an dtalamh so beo
Dá bhfaighinnse céad loingis mar spré dhom
Píolóidi, caisleáin is óir
Do bfhearr liom bheith fán ar na sléibhte
Lem chailín deas crúite na mbó
Muna bhfuil sé i ndán dom bheith in éineacht
Leis an spéirbhean ró-dhílis ˙liom fós
Is daoirseach, dubhrónach mo shaolsa
Gan suaimhneas, gan éifeacht, gan treo
Ní bheidh sólás im chroÌ ná im intinn
Ná suaimhneas orm oiche nó ló
Go bhfaigh mise saor óna muintir
Mo chailÌn deas crúite na mbó
Translation:
The Pretty maid Milking the Cow
I have listened for a year or more
To my mind’s deep doleful whispers
Since I met the bright love of my heart
Late one fine Autumn’s evening
The sweet milk cow was lowing
And birds were joyful in music
On the bank of a stream beside me
Was a pretty maid milking the cow
Her eyes are like the shining suns rays
Scattering through a foggy sky
Her cheeks more rosy than rowans
Alight amongst the hillsides
Her little mouth more sweet than berries
And her skin as pale as buttermilk
There’s no nicer girl in all this world
Than the pretty maid milking the cow
If I had the high Lordship of all Ireland
Garments, silks and satin
If I had the highest of all Queens
Who lived on this earth
If I had a hundred ships in dowry
Palaces, castles and gold
I would rather be roaming the hillsides
With my pretty maid milking the cow
If it is not my fate to be with
That loyal and beautiful woman
My life will be sorrowful and gloomy
Without joy, without use, without aim
No comfort in my mind or in my heart
No peace by night or by day
Until she’s free from her people and by my side
My pretty maid milking the cow
