NED OF THE HILL

Who's that outside
Whose voice is urgent,
Pounding on my closed door?
I am Ned of the hill,
Who is drowned, cold and wet,
From endlessly travelling mountains and glens.
Dearest love and treasure,
What can I do for you
But cover you with the lap of my dress?
And black gunpowder will be
Fired endlessly at you,
And we will both perish!

I've long been outside
In snow and in frost,
Not daring to approach anyone.

My fallow unplanted,
My team in need of unyoking,
And I no longer have them at all!
I have no friend
How that grieves me
Who'd take me in, early or late.
And so I must go
Eastward across the sea,
For it's there I have no kindred.

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Céhésin amuigh
a bhfuil faobhar a ghuth,
a' réabadh mo dhorais dhúnta?
Mise Éamonn a' Chnoic,
atá báite fuar fliuch,
ó shíor-shiúl sléibhte is gleannta.
A lao ghil 's a chuid,
cad a dheánfainn-se dhuit
mura gcuirfinn ort binn de mo ghúna?
'S go mbeidh púdar dubh
'á shíor shéideadh leat
's go mbeimís araon múchta!

Is fada méamuigh
faoi shneachta is faoi shioc,
's gan dánacht agam ar éinne.
Mo bhranar gan cur,
mo sheisreach gan scor,
is gan iad agam ar aon chor!
Níl caraid agam
is danaid liom sin
a ghlacfadh mémoch ná déanach.
'S go gcaithfe médul
thar fairaige soir,
ó's ann nach bhfuilaon do mo ghaolta.