Cuimhnighim a hainm - píob-cheol é. Dhearmadas a folt

I remember her name - the music of pipes. I have forgotten her hair

Inniu bhuail an aois, Sise - álainn an líne

Age struck today. She - Lovely the line, breeze-born,

File mise a rinne cionta i gcoinnibh leis an Spiorad Naomh.

I am a poet that made affections in opposition with the Holy Spirit.

Léim im chóipse de ‘Leabhar Branach,’ ‘Dia libh, a laochruidh Gaoidhiol!’

I read in my copy of the ‘[17th C.] Book of the Ó Broin’s,’ ‘God be with you, Gaelic warriors!’

Briste an crann, ‘s na craobhacha. Thóg seisean leis a chuimhneacha,

Broken the tree, and the branches. He took with him his memories,

Cuimhnighim a hainm - píob-cheol é. Dhearmadas a folt

I remember her name - the music of pipes. I have forgotten her hair

Ná bí mí-fhoighneach, a bhaile bhig, fillte go síothúil i measc ciúinchnoicibh

Don’t be impatient, little homeland, folded peacefully among quiet hills,

Mise ar díbirt I gcéin ó Éire, Scríobhas mo chuid dánta i mBéarla

I am banished far from Ireland, I scribbled my bit of verses in English

I stand before the Book of Ballymote, The Book of Leinster, the Leabhar Breac, and last, the oldest, Leabhar na hUidhre – tomes that hold my people’s history in a thousand ranns: I cannot read a word.

Anocht táim im’ shuí ar an dtráigh mar fadó, do shuíos-sa le grá geal mo chroí

Tonight I am sitting on the beach as long ago, when I sat with the bright love of my heart

Is dubhach a bhíonn gach oíche is ló, óchón! mo bhrón!

Ag smaoineadh ar na bearta crua, óchón! mo bhrón!

Gloomy is every night and day, alas! my sorrow!

Thinking on the hard actions, alas! my sorrow!

A fhíorchlanna Gaeil Glais dhon tsaorfhuil ba chalma, laochas a ndearg túis baoil

Oh true green Gaels of free blood most brave, of true valour at dangers start

A Ghaeilic mhín mhilis! a bhinnghuth na hÉireann! Nach brónach faoi theidhm thú! nach sochtach, nach cian!

Oh smooth, gentle Gaelic! Oh melodious voice of Ireland! Aren’t you sorrowful under pestilence! Isn’t it deeply emotional, isn’t it sad!

A Ghaeilic mhín mhilis! a bhinnghuth na hÉireann! Nach brónach faoi theidhm thú! nach sochtach, nach cian!

Oh smooth, gentle Gaelic! Oh melodious voice of Ireland! Aren’t you sorrowful under pestilence! Isn’t it deeply emotional, isn’t it sad!

Is trua gan mhis’ i m’eala, do ghluaisfinnse abhaile

It is a pity I am not a swan, I would travel home

Mo chéad míle slán leat, ‘ fhíoráras na féile! A shuaircinis aoibhinn! A dhúchais na nGael

Fare thee well, twenty thousand times, land of the Gael! Wherein pleasure and plenty with welcome were found

Is bímse tnútháil le só na gréine, á ghabhas siar tharam go beag-Árainn

And I envy the ease of the sun, passing back over me to little Aran

Faoin ár gcuan tháinig deoraí bocht, brónach as Éirinn, Ba trom earraí éadrom le drúcht fras, fuar;

To our harbour, a poor, sad exile came from Ireland, The meager goods were heavy with sprinkling, cold dew;

Cé cian, dubh, mo dheoraíocht fillfidh mo theidhin, Go mór-aonach Fodhla, le ceol agus laoi;

Though distant, dark, my exile, my mind will return, To the great assembly of Ireland, with music and poetry;

Tá cnuic is gleannta Éireann ag dul ó léargas orm agus béidh go deo

The hills and glens of Ireland are fading from my sight and will be forever