Tras-scríbhinn

Bhí mé ar an (Tráigh Sceach) is ar Mín na Mínleach,
Ar Shliabh (an Fhraoigh) agus ar an gCorrach Mhór,
Ar an Éadan Chuilinn (...) is ag (tíocht) na gaoithe,
'Gus seal dhon oíche ar scoil (Eoghain Óig).

Tá leabaidh chodlata agam ar Alt na Stéige
Is a leithéide chéanna i mbarr Ghleann Duibh,
I mBaile na Muc(a) a nímse véarsaí,
'Gus áit ró-aerach ag Log (Choill Duibh).

Sé a deireas na cailleachaí tíocht na hoíche,
"Faoi chuimrí Chríosta thú go n-éirí an lá,
Ó, a mhic na gcarad ná téirigh ag luighe,
For beidh tú i bpríosún ag Roibeard Bán."

"(Muise, dh)á mbeith a fhios agamsa," arsa Máistir (Seorstal),
"Go bhfuil do chónaí ('á) bhfuil fá shliabh,
Dar an mbíobla atá in mo phóca,
Bhéarfainn (do do sheod leo) fad mo riar."

Suighim síos ar Mhullaigh Átha,
Ólaim cárta agus théim[1] a luí,
Agus nuair a mhusclaím as an támh sin,
Sé Liam (Mag Leabhainn) a bhris mo chroí.

Bheirimse mo bheannacht (do Mhailí Seorstan),
An chiúinbhean mhodhúil is b'áille ciall,
Is gurb é pósadh an ní nár chóir dhomh,
D'fhág mo thóirí mé anois le bliain.

Máistir Glasgow sé mo roghain é
Ar (Ghallaí) óga na tíre thiar,
Ach sul má stróicfear níos mó dhon éideadh
Fágfad Éire agus beannacht libh.

Sin agaibh anois é!

Aistriúchán

I was on the briery beach (?) and on the smooth grassland,
On the heathery mountain and on the great bog,
On the holly-covered hillside (?) and the (...) of the wind,
And part of the night in the school of young Eoghan (?).

I have a bed to sleep in on the hill of (...)
And the same at the top of a dark glen,
In the pigs' land I make verses,
And an airy place in a dark-wooded hollow.

The old hags say when night comes,
"May you be protected by Christ until sunrise,
Oh, dearest friend do not go to sleep,
For white-haired Robert will have you in prison."

"If I had known," said Master Seorstal (?),
"That you live among the hills,
By the Bible in my pocket,
I would (...) my share."

I sit down on peaks of (...),
I drink a quart and I go to sleep,
And when I awake from that stupor,
It is Liam Mag Leabhainn (?) who broke my heart.

I send my blessings to Molly Seorstan (?),
That mild and gentle woman of the most beautiful mind,
Marriage is the thing not right for me (?),
It has left me an outlaw this last year.

Master Glasgow is my choice
Of the young foreigners(?) of the west country,
But before more of the cloth is ripped (?)
I will leave Ireland and my farewell to you.

There now you have it!

Fonótaí

Tráchtaireacht

Nóta tráchtaireachta idir lámha.