Cuaichin Ghleann Neifin

I will get up tomorrow at the bright dawn of day
And I will race out onto the mountains
And I’ll bid farewell to the pretty women of this world
And I swear not to return until the the cuckoo speaks on the tops of the branches there.

My love is like the sloe blossom which grows at the beginning of summer,
Or like white daisies swimming in the glen
Or like the sun over Carnán [mountain] in the street/village as I go down
That’s how my fair love torments my mind.

Isn’t it pleasant for the high upon which my fair love goes
Isn’t it pleasant for the ground her shoe walks upon
Isn’t it most pleasant for the young man whom my love will marry
She is the guiding star of the morning and the dew of the evening.