Airdí Cuan
(Airdí Cuan)

Irish

Dá mbeinn féin in Airdí Cuain
In aice an tsléibhe úd 'tá i bhfad uaim
B'annamh liom gan dul ar cuairt
Go Gleann na gCuach Dé Domhnaigh.

Agus och, och Éire 'lig is ó
Éire lionndubh agus ó
Is é mo chroí 'tá trom agus brónach.

Is iomaí Nollaig 'bhí mé féin
I mBun Abhainn Doinne is mé gan chéill
Ag iomáint ar an trá bhán
Is mo chamán bán i mo dhorn liom.

Nach tuirseach mise anseo liom féin
Nach n-airím guth coiligh, londubh nó traon,
Gealbhán, smaolach, naoscach féin,
Is chan n-aithním féin an Domhnach.

Is é seo an choraíocht atá buan
Is ar an tsaol seo go gcuirfeadh sé cluain
Mheallfadh sé an chaora ón uan
Agus mheall sé uaimse an óige.

Dá mbeadh agam coite is rámh
Nó go n-ionróinn ar an tsnámh
Is mé ag dúil as Dia go sroichfinn slán
Is go bhfaighinnse bás in Éirinn.
If I were in Airdí Cuan
Beside that mountain far from me
It would be seldom I would not go visiting
To the Valley of the Cuckoo on a Sunday

And oh, oh all of Ireland
Ireland, sadness oh
And my heart is heavy and sorrowful

It's often in December I was
At the source of the Donn without a care
Hurling on the white strand
And my hurling stick in my fist

Aren’t I weary here alone
Not hearing the cockerel, blackbird, or corncrake
Sparrow, thrush, snipe
And I not even aware that it is Sunday

This is an endless struggle,
And it makes life an illusion.
It separates the sheep from the lambs
And it separates me from my youth.

If only I had a boat and oar
Or that I may row on the water
Desiring of God that may I reach safety
And that I may die in Ireland