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