Geaḋ éigean fulang uille a dtriall anuas
Do gnéiṫiḃ guirte an ċruinne a mbliaḋna im ḃuaic
Ní béarla briste ar biṫ bo stiall mo stuaim
Aċt mé gan truis do ċuirfeaḋ ciall im ḋuain.

Níl éifeaċt dom i gcumaiḋ tiaċt mo nuar
D’éis na droinge dile i gcian doċuaiḋ
Mo léan aniuḋ na fir ar iarraiḋ uaim
Naċ déineaḋ guṫ mo ġuib dá ḃliaclaiḃ guais.


Although I needs must bear the weight of the bitter fortunes of the world
That in varied forms are falling down this year upon my head,
‘Tis not any faulty language that hath rent and spoiled my wit,
But the absence of the wealth that would put sense into my muse.

I have got, alas, no vigour left for forming friendships now,
Since the dearest friends I had have gone away to distant lands,
‘Tis the absence of those heroes that hath left me weak to-day,
For with them my oral voice was never fearful of its risks.