Gaeilge
As Eaċtra ġiolla an ámarain, le Tomás Ó Flannghaile, 1897.
Is fairsing ’s is fáilteaċ an áit do ḃeiṫ n-Éirinn
Uileacán duḃ O!
Mar a mbiḋeann torraḋ na sláinte a mbárr na déise ann
Uileacán duḃ O!
Biḋeann an ṁil ar an gcrann ann a ngleanntaiḃ ceoiḋ
’Sna sruṫaiḃ is an t-saṁra ann a g-ciuṁais gaċ róid
Biḋeann uisge ’na ṡrúill ann as drúċt um nóin
Air ḃánċnoic Éireann óġ!
Is baċallaċ, buacaċ, dualaċ, dréimneacċ,
Uileacan duḃ O!
Gaċ faraire a ġluaiseas ó ċuantaiḃ na h-Éireann
Uileacán duḃ O!
Raċfadsa air cuaird más buan mo ṡaoġal ḃeiḋeas
G’nuig talaṁ an t-suaircis mar is dual go Ġaoḋail ḃeiṫ,
Do ḃ’ḟeárr liom ná ḃur ndualgas giḋ mór le maoiḋeaṁ ḃeiṫ
Air ḃánċnoic Éireann óġ!
Is tairḃeaċ ’s is mór iad cruaċaiḃ na h-Éireann
Uileacán duḃ O!
Biḋeann an t-im ar an t-uaċdar ag gluaiseaċt ’na slaoda ann
Uileacán duḃ O!
Biḋeann an biollar air an dtoinn an as saṁaḋ bog soḋail
As na cuaċa ag laḃairt ann ó ló go ló
’S an smóilín uasal is fuaim-ḃinne ceol
Air ḃánċnoic Éireann óġ!
English
From Samuel Ferguson’s Lays of the Western Gael, published 1865.
A plenteous place is Ireland for hospitable cheer,
Uileacán dubh, O!
Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow barley ear,
Uileacán dubh, O!
There is honey in the trees where her misty vales expand,
And her forest paths in summer are by falling waters fann’d,
There is dew at high noontide there, and springs in the yellow sand
On the fair hills of Holy Ireland!
Curl’d he is and ringleted and plaited to the knee,
Uileacán dubh, O!
Each captain who comes sailing across the Irish sea,
Uileacán dubh, O!
And I will make my journey, if life and health but stand,
Unto that pleasant country, that fresh and fragrant strand,
And leave your boasted braveries, your wealth and high command,
For the fair hills of Holy Ireland!
Large and profitable are the stacks upon the ground,
Uileacán dubh, O!
The butter and the cream do wondrously abound,
Uileacán dubh, O!
The cresses on the waters and the sorrels are at hand,
And the cuckoo’s calling daily his note of music bland,
And the blood thrush sings so bravely his song in the forests grand,
On the fair hills of Holy Ireland!