| Original | Versione inglese / English version
|
| AN SAIGHDIÚIR TRÉIGTHE | THE DESERTED SOLDIER |
| | |
| Nuair a d’eirigh mé ‘r maidin Dé Céadaoin | As I woke up on Wednesday morning |
| Níor choisreac mé m’éadan faraor | I forgot to bless myself, alas |
| Nó gur bheir mé ar an arm a ba ghéire | And took the sharpest sword |
| Agus chuir mé a bhéal le cloich liomhth’ | And made its blade more keen |
| | |
| Dá mbínnse seacht mbliana faoin talamh | Were I seven years buried |
| Nó i bhfiabhras na leapa mo luí | Or lying in my bed with fever |
| A chéadsearc an dtighteá ‘gus m’fhiafraí | If you asked for me, my beloved |
| Scéal cinnte go mbeinn leat mo shuí | I would surely be up and by your side |
| | |
| Is trua nach marb bhí m’athair | Tisn’t it a pity my father wasn’t dead |
| Nuair a chuir sé mé go harm an Rí’ | When he put me into the King’s army |
| Is gurbh í an uaigh mo chrualeaba feasta | For my bed is surely the grave |
| Is a chéadsearc nach trua leat mo luí | And darling do you not pity me? |
| | |
| Is fada mo chrá croíse a dhéanamh | I have suffered for too long |
| Mo thumba á prionntáil ag saor | A mason carves my name for the tomb |
| ‘Gus mo chónra á tógáil lá ‘n Earraigh | This Spring day my coffin is being made |
| ‘Gus na buachailli deasa gabháil faoi | And fine boys ready to carry it |
| | |
| Is trua nach marbh bhí m’athair | Tisn’t it a pity my father wasn’t dead |
| Nuair a chuir sé mé go harm an Rí’ | When he put me into the King’s army |
| Is gurbh í an uaigh mo chrualeaba feasta | For my bed is surely the grave |
| Is a chéadsearc nach trua leat mo luí | And darling do you not pity me? |
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