Táid na réalta ‘n-a seasaṁ ar an aer,
An ġrian is an ġealaċ ‘n-a luiġe;
Tá an ḟairrge tráiġte gan braon,
‘S níl réim ag an eala mar ḃíoḋ;
Tá an cuaiċín i mbarraiḃ na ngéag
‘Gá ṡíor-ráḋ gur éaluiġ sí uainn,—
A stuairín na mbaċall mbreaġ réiḋ
D’ḟág Éire fá ḟadtuirse cruaḋ!

Trí níḋ do ċím trés an ngráḋ,
An peacaḋ, an bás, is an ṗian,
Agus m’intinn dá innsin gaċ lá ḋom
M’aignead gur ċráḋ sí le ciaċ.
Sé mo ċuṁa ġéar go dtugas di gráḋ,
‘S go mb’ḟearr liom naċ ḃfeicfinn í riaṁ,—
‘S a ṁaiġdean, do ṁill tú im’ lár mé,
‘S go ḃfaġaiḋ tú na grása ó Ḋia!

The Stars Stand Up

The stars stand up in the air,
The sun and the moon are set,
The sea has ebbed dry of its tide,
And the swan has no sway as she used;
The cuckoo in the tops of the boughs
Keeps telling me that she is fled,—
O darling of the brave free tresses
That left Ireland in the utter unrest!

Three things I see through love,
Sin, and death, and pain;
And my mind tells me day by day
That my soul she has wasted with woe.
My sharp grief that I e’er gave her love,
‘Twere better I never had seen her,—
O maiden, my heart you have hurt,
May you get forgiveness from God!