Morning In Bearra

Is é mo choí gan mise maidin aerach
Amuigh i mbéarra im' sheasamh ar an dtrá
Is guth na n-éan 'o'm tharraing tha na sléibhte cois na farraige
Go céim an aitinn mar ambíonn mo ghrá
Is obann aoibhinn aiteasach do léimfhinn
Do rithfhinn saor ó anabhroid an tláis
Do thabharfainn droim le scamallaibh an tsaoil seo
Dá bhfaighinn mo léirdhothain d'amharc ar mo
Chaoimshearc bán.

Is é mo dhíth bheith ceangailte go faonlag
Is neart mo chléibh dá thachtadh 'nseo sa tsráid
An fhad tá réim na habhann agus gaoth ghlan na farraige
Ag glaoch is gairm ar an gcroí seo i m'lár
Is milis bríomhar leathanbhog an t-aer ann
Is gile ón ngréin go farsing ar an mbán
Is ochón, a ríbhean bhanúil na gcraobhfholt
Gan sinne araon i measc an aitinn mar do bhímis tráth.

[english translation:]

I regret that on this airy morning
I am not out in béarra sitting on the beach
With the voices of birds drawing me over the mountains beside the sea
To the pass of the furze where my love is
I would caper about happily, pleasantly
I would run free from doubts and fears
I turn my back on the clouds of this life.

If i could ever get my fill of looking at my fair sweetheart.

It is my sadness to be bound here in weakness
The power of my spirit suffocated here in the streets
While the rivers flow and the pure sea wind
Calls and summons the heart within me
The air there is sweet and vigorous and soft
And bright is the sun that shines on the grasslands
But alas, oh gentle queen of the curly hair
That we are not together amidst the furze as once we were.