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"Brid Og Ni Mhaille"

Is a Bhríd Óg Ní Mháille

'S tú d'fhág mo chroí cráite

'S chuir tú arraingeacha

An bháis fríd cheartlár mo chroí

Tá na céadta fear i ngrá

Le d'éadan ciúin náireach

Is go dtug tú barr breáchtacht'

Ar Thír Oirghiall más fíor

Níl ní ar bith is áille

Ná'n ghealach os cionn a' tsáile r

Ná bláth bán na n-airne

Bíos ag fás ar an draighean

Ó siúd mar bíos mo ghrá-sa

Níos trilsí le breáchtacht

Béilín meala na háilleacht'

Nach ndearna riamh claon

Is buachaill deas óg mé

'Tá triall chun mo phósta

'S ní buan i bhfad beo mé

Mura bhfaighidh mé mo mhian

A chuisle is a stóirín

Déan réidh agus bí romhamsa

Cionn deireanach den Domhnach

Ar Bhóithrín Dhroim Sliabh

Is tuirseach 's brónach

A chaithimse an Domhnach

Mo hata 'mo dhorn liom

'S mé ag osnaíl go trom

'S mé ag amharc ar na bóithre

'Mbíonn mo ghrá-sa ag gabhail ann

'S í ag fear eile pósta

Is gan í bheith liom

[Translation:]

Oh Brid Og O'Malley

You have left my heart breaking

You've sent the death pangs

Of sorrow to pierce my heart sore

A hundred men are craving

For your breathtaking beauty

You're the fairest of maidens

In Oriel for sure

No spectacle is fairer

Than moonbeams on the harbor

Or the sweet scented blossoms

Of the sloe on the thorn

But my love shines much brighter

In looks and in stature

That honey-lipped beauty

Who never said wrong

I'm a handsome young fellow

Who is thinking of wedlock

But my life will be shortened

If I don't get my dear

My love and my darling

Prepare now to meet me

On next Sunday evening

On the road to Drum Slieve

'Tis sadly and lonely

I pass the time on Sunday

My head bowed in sorrow

My sights heavy with woe

As I gaze upon the byways

That my true love walks over

Now she's wed to another

And left me forlorn

Oh Bridget O'Malley, you left my heart shaken

With a hopeless desolation, I'd have you to know

It's the wonders of admiration your quiet face has taken

And your beauty will haunt me wherever I go.

The white moon above the pale sands, the pale stars above the thorn tree

Are cold beside my darling, but no purer than she

I gaze upon the cold moon till the stars drown in the warm sea

And the bright eyes of my darling are never on me.

My Sunday it is weary, my Sunday it is grey now

My heart is a cold thing, my heart is a stone

All joy is dead within me, my life has gone away now

For another has taken my love for his own.

The day it is approaching when we were to be married

And it's rather I would die than live only to grieve

Oh meet me, my Darling, e'er the sun sets o'er the barley

And I'll meet you there on the road to Drumslieve.

Oh Bridget O'Malley, you've left my heart shaken

With a hopeless desolation, I'd have you to know

It's the wonders of admiration your quiet face has taken

And your beauty will haunt me wherever I go.