Sting: Mo Ghile Mear

By sen clrach mac domhnaill

Seal da rabhas im' mhaighdean shimh,
's anois im' bhaintreach chaite thrith,
Mo chile ag treabhadh na dtonn go tran
De bharr na gcnoc is I n-imigcin.

's mo laoch, mo ghile mear,
's mo chaesar, ghile mear,
Suan n san n bhfuaireas fin
Ó chuaigh I gcin mo ghile mear.

Bmse buan ar buaidhirt gach ló,
Ag caoi go cruaidh 's ag tuar na ndeór
Mar scaoileadh uaim an buachaill beó
's n romhtar tuairisc uaidh, mo bhrón.

N labhrann cuach go suairc ar nóin
Is nl guth gadhair I gcoillte cnó,
N maidin shamhraidh I gcleanntaibh ceoigh
Ó d'imthigh uaim an buachaill beó.

Marcach uasal uaibhreach óg,
Gas gan gruaim is suairce snódh,
Glac is luaimneach, luath I ngleo
Ag teascadh an tslua 's ag tuargain treon.

Seinntear stair ar chlairsigh cheoil
's lontair tinte crt ar bord
Le hinntinn ard gan chaim, gan cheó
chun saoghal is slinte d' fhaghil dom leómhan.

Ghile mear 'sa seal faoi chumha,
's eire go lir faoi chlócaibh dubha;
Suan n san n bhfuaireas fin
Ó luaidh I gcin mo ghile mear.


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A literal translation by j. mark sugars 1997

Once I was a gentle maiden,
But now I am a spent, worn-out widow,
My consort strongly plowing the waves
Over the hills and far away.

He is my hero, my gallant darling,
He is my caesar, a gallant darling;
I've found neither rest nor fortune
Since my gallant darling went far away.

Every day I am constantly enduring grief,
Weeping nitterly and shedding tears,
Because my lively lad has left me
And no news is told of him - alas!

The cuckoo does not sing cheerfully at noon
And the sound of hounds is not heard in nut-tree woods
Nor summer morning in misty glen
Since my lively boy went away from me.

Noble, proud young horseman,
Youth without gloom, of pleasant countenance,
A swift-moving fist, nimble in a fight,
Slaying the enemy and smiting the strong.

Let a strain be played on musical harps,
And let many quarts be filled on the table,
With high spirit, without fault, without gloom,
That my lion may receive long life and health.

Gallant darling for a while under sorrow,
And ireland completely under black cloacks,
I have found neither rest nor fortune
Since my gallant darling went far away