MO GHILE MEAR (My Dashing Darling)
(Irish Gaelic)

Seal da rabhas im'mhaighdean shiimh 
'S anois im' bhaintreach chaite thriith 
Mo chiile ag treabhadh ne dtonn go trian 
De bharr na gcnoc is in imigiin. 

Curfa 
'Si mo laoch, mo Ghile Mear 
'Si mo Chaesar, Ghile Mear. 
Suan na sian nm bhfuaireas fiin 
O chuaigh in gciin mo Ghile Mear. 

Bmmse buan ar buairt gach ls 
Ag caoi go ctuaidh 's ag tuar na ndeor 
Mar scaoileadh uaim an buachaill beo 
'S na rmomhtar tuairisc uaidh mo bhrsn. 

Nm lagnrann cuach go suairc ar nsin 
Is nml guth gadhair i gcoillte cns 
Na maidin shamhraidh i gcleanntaibh ceoi 
O d'imigh uaim an buachaill beo. 

Marcach uasal uaibhreach sg 
Gas gan gruaim is suairce sns 
Glac is luaimneach luath i ngleo 
Ag teascadh an tslua 's ag tuairgan tria 

Seinntear stair ar chlairsigh cheoil 
Is liontair tainte cart ar bord 
Le hinntinn ard gan chaim gan cheo 
Chun saol is slainte d'fhail don leon. 

Ghile mear 'sa seal faoi chumha 
'S Eire go liir faoi chlscaibh dubha 
Suan na sian nm bhfuaireas fiin 
O luaidh i gciin mo Ghile Mear. 
--

Mo Ghile Mear (My Dashing Darling)
(Translation)

For a while I was a gentle maiden 
And now a spent worn-out widow 
My spouse ploughing the waves strongly 
Over the hills and far away. 

chorus: He is my hero, my dashing darling 
He is my Caesar, dashing darling. 
I've had no rest from forebodings 
Since he went far away my darling. 

Every day I am constantly sad 
Weeping bitterly and shedding tears 
Because our lively lad has left us 
And no news from him is heard alas. 

The cuckoo sings not pleasantly at noon 
And the sound of hounds is not heard in nut-filled woods, 
Nor summer morning in misty glen 
Since he went away from me, my lively boy. 

Noble, proud young horseman 
Warrior unsaddened, of most pleasant countenace 
A swift-moving hand, quick in a fight, 
Slaying the enemy and smiting the strong. 

Let a strain be played on musical harps 
And let many quarts be filled 
With high spirit without fault or mist 
For life and health to toast my lion. 

Dashing darling for a while under sorrow 
And all Ireland under black cloaks 
Rest or pleasure I did not get 
Since he went far away my dashing darling.