Mo Ghile Mear
Seán Clárach MacDomhnaill| La versione letterale inglese dal Mudcat Café | |
| MO GHILE MEAR (My Gallant Darling) | MY DASHING DARLING |
| Once I was fair as a morn of May, Now all I do is grieve and pray, And scan the surging ocean waves Since my gallant laddie went away. | For a while I was a gentle maiden And now a spent worn-out widow My spouse ploughing the waves strongly Over the hills and far away. |
| 'Sé mo laoch, mo Ghile Mear, 'Sé mo Chaesar, Ghile Mear, Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas féin Ó chuaigh in gcéin mo Ghile Mear. | He is my hero, my dashing darling He is my Caesar, dashing darling. I've had no rest from forebodings Since he went far away my darling. |
| Pain and sorrow are all I know, My heart is sore, my tears a' flow Since o'er the seas we saw him go No news has come to ease our woe. | Every day I am constantly sad Weeping bitterly and shedding tears Because our lively lad has left us And no news from him is heard alas. |
| In chestnut trees no birdsong sounds, The glens no more echo with coursing hounds, Winter's gloom lasts all year 'round, Since my laddie left for to seek his crown. | The cuckoo sings not pleasantly at noon And the sound of hounds is not heard in nut-filled woods, Nor summer morning in misty glen Since he went away from me, my lively boy. |
| A proud and youthful chevalier, A highland lion of cheerful mien, A slashing blade, a flashing shield, Fighting foremost in the field. | Noble, proud young horseman Warrior unsaddened, of most pleasant countenace A swift-moving hand, quick in a fight, Slaying the enemy and smiting the strong. |
| Come, drain your cups as wild harps play Let every Celt praise his noble name As long as blood flows in your veins Raise a toast for his health, wish him length of days. | Let a strain be played on musical harps And let many quarts be filled With high spirit without fault or mist For life and health to toast my lion. |
| Hero whose hopes have turned to smoke, Erin all wrapped in mourning cloak, I watch and wait, I dread my fate, Since my gallant laddie went away. | Dashing darling for a while under sorrow And all Ireland under black cloaks Rest or pleasure I did not get Since he went far away my dashing darling. |
