Coinleach Glas an Fhómhair

I. Ar chonnlaigh ghlais an Fhoghmhair A stóirín gur dhearc mé uaim Ba deas do chos i mbróig 'Sba ró-dheas do leagan siubhail. Do ghruaidh ar dhath na rósaí 'Sdo chúirníní bhí fighte dlúith Monuar gan sinn 'ár bpósadh Nó'r bórd luinge 'triall 'un siubhail. II. Tá buachaillí na h-áite seo A' gartha 'gus ag éirghe teann Is lucht na gcochán árd A' deánamh fáruis do mo chailín donn Dá ngluaiseadh Rí na Spáinne Thar sáile 's a shlóighte cruinn Bhrúighfinn féar is fásach 'S bhéinn ar láimh le mo chailín donn. III. Ceannacht buaibh ar aontaigh' Dá mbínn agus mo chailín donn Gluais is tar a chéad-searc Nó go dtéidh muid thar Ghaoth-Bearra 'nonn Go sgartar ó n-a chéile Bárr na gcraobh 's an eala ón tuinn Ní sgarfar sin ó chéile 'S níl ach baois díbh á chur 'n mur gcionn. IV. Chuir mé leitir scríobhtha Annsoir mo sweetheart agus casaoid ghéar Chuir sí chugam arís í Go rabh a croidhe istuigh i lár mo chléibh. Cum na h-eala is míne Ná'n síoda 's ná cluimh na n-éan Nach trom an osna ghním-se Nuair a smaoitighim ar a bheith 'sgaradh léi. V. 'Sé chuala m/e Dé Domhnaigh Mar chómhrádh 'gabháil eadar mhnáibh Go rabh sí 'gabháil 'a pósadh Ar óigfhear dá bhfuil san áit. A stóirín glac mo chomhairle 'S a' foghmhar seo fan mar tá 'S cha leigim le 'bhfuil beo thú A stór nó 's tú mo ghrádh. Translation [From Larry Keith Ogle] On the green stubble-fields of Autumn I saw you, my sweetheart. Nice were your feet in shoes And wonderful your nimble gait. Your hair the color of roses And your ringlets tightly plaited Alas that we're not married Or on board ship sailing away The boys around here are Laughing and getting bold And the people of the high straw? Are making? of my brown girl If the King of Spain would Go abroad with his assembled men I would flatten grass and rank grass And I would be with my brown girl Buying cows at the fair If I were? and my brown girl Go and come first love Until we go over to Gaoth-Bearra Until we separate from each other The tops of the branches and the swan From the waves? That won't separate us And it's only folly for you to put it? I wrote a letter To my sweetheart and a sharp complaint She sent it back to me That her heart was inside me. Compose the artsswannoble person? Finer than silk or bird feathers Heavy is my sigh When I think of being apart from her. What I heard on Sunday As conversation among the women That she was going to be married To a young man from the place. Sweetheart take my advice And this Autumn stay as you are And don't tell anyone, my love, That you are my love.