Although there is a lot of information in this thread, it is very scattered. I found among my papers a photocopy of a 14-verse rendition of Dónal Óg paired with Seán Lucy's 15-verse translation. Five of Lucy's verses are not in the Irish-language version on the photocopy, and the Irish-language version includes four verses that aren't translated by Lucy. I have re-arranged the Irish-language verses to correspond more closely to the Lucy translation; the numbers in parentheses represent the 'original' order of the verses. Where Lucy has a verse that is not in this Irish-language version, I have inserted that verse in Irish from other sources. Irish-language verses 1, 10, 12 & 13 are not in the Lucy translation so I have bracketed my own rough translation (I'm not very satisfied with my verse 13 translation!).

DÓNAL ÓG (anon. 17-19th centuries, translated by Seán Lucy)

Donal Óg, if you cross the water
Take me with you and don't forget to;
At fair and market you shall have a fairing
And the Greek King's daughter for your bed-companion.

If you go away I've a way, I've a way to know you;
Two green eyes and the bright fair head of you,
Adozen curls on your top-knot clustering -
Like a bright yellow flag or a rose in flowering.

And late last night the watchdog spoke of you,
The snipe declared you in the deepest bogland,
And you, like lonely wild goose, gone through the wodlands -
And be lonely always until you marry me.

You made a promise, and you told a lie then,
To come and meet me where sheep are folded,
I whistled loud and I shouted often
With no reply but a small lamb bleating.

You made a promise, one of difficulty,
A fleet of gold with masts of silver,
A dozen towns, in each a market,
And a limewhite palace beside the seashore.

You made a promise, a thing unlikely,
That you would give me fine gloves of fishskin,
That you would give me fine shoes of bird skin,
And a suit of silk, the dearest in Erin.

O Donal Óg, I would be better for you,
Than a noble lady proud and haughty,
I'd milk the cow and I'd turn the churn for you,
And if things were difficult I'd strike a blow for you.

O my grief! And it's not the hunger,
The want of food, drink, or sleep enough,
That has left me so thin and perishing,
But a young man's love that has surely wasted me.

At early morning I sighted my true love
Up on horseback riding the roadway,
He passed me by and he didn't call me,
On returning home again I was crying sorely.

When by myself at the Well of Lonesomeness
Sitting down I make my sorrowing,
I see the world and no trace of my darling,
With the glow of amber on his warm cheeks shining.

That was the Sunday I gave my love to you,
The very Sunday before Easter Sunday,
I was reading the Passion on my knees devoutly
While still my two eyes were sending my love to you.

Mother said to me not to speak to you
Today nor tomorrow nor on the Sunday,
But bad the time she chose for telling me,
Twas locking the door up after the robbery.

Mother, my little one, give me to him,
And also give to him all of your property,
Out yourself and beg for charity
And don't come East or West to find me.

My heart is black as a sloe inside me,
Or the blackest coal that's in the forge there,
Or a dark footprint in the gleaming hallways,
and 'twas you who turned my life so black and bitter.

You've taken East from me and you've taken West from me,
And what's before me and what's behind me,
You've taken sun from me and you've taken moon from me,
And my fear is terrible you've taken God from me.

DÓNAL ÓG

A Dhónaill Óig, má théir thar fharraige
Beir mé féin leat 's ná deán mo dhearmad
Beidh agat féirín lá aonaigh is margaidh
Agus iníon Rí Gréige mar chéile leapa 'gat (4)

Má théir anonn tá comhartha agam ort:
Tá cúl fionn is dhá shúil ghlasa agat,
Dhá chocán déag i do chúl buí bachallach
Mar bheadh béal na bó nó rós i ngarraithe. (5)

Is déanach aréir a labhair an gadhar ort,
do labhair an naoscach sa churraichín doimhin ort:
Tú id' chaonaí uaigneach ar fuaid na gcoillte,
Is go rabhair gan chéile go héag go bhfaighir mé. (6)

Gheall tú dhomsa, is rinne tú bréag liom,
Go mbeifeá romham ag cró na gcaorach;
Lig mé fead agus dhá ghlao dhéag ort.
'S ní bhfuair mé romham ach na huain ag méiligh. (7)

Gheall tú dhomsa ní ba dheacair dhuit,
Loingeas óir faoi chrann seóil airgid,
Dhá cheann déag de bhailte margaidh.
'S cúirt bhreá aolta cois taobh na farraige. (9)

Gheall tú dhomsa ní nár bh'féidir,
Go dtabharfá laimhinní de chraiceann éisg dom
Go dtabharfá brógaí de chraiceann éan dom
Agus culaith don tsíoda ba dhaoire i nÉirinn. [based on a verse from Munster in Ó Duibhgeáin*]

A Dhomhnall Óig, b'fhearr dhuit mise agat
Ná bean uasal uaibhreach iomarcach
Chrúfainn bó agus dhéanfainn cuigean duit,
Is dá mba cruaidh é do bhuailinn buille leat.(3)

Och, och ón, agus ní le hocras,
Uireasa bídh, dí ná codlata,
Faoi ndeara domsa bheith tanaí trochlaithe,
Ach grá fir óig is é bhreoigh go follas mé. [published in Ó Duibhgeáin]

Is moch ar maidin do chonaic mise an t-ógfhear
Ar mhuin chapaill ag gabháil an bóthar,
Níor dhruid sé liom is níor chuir ná stró orm,
'S ar mo chasadh abhaile dhom 'sea do ghoileas mo dhóthain. [published in Ó Duibheagáin]

Nuair a théimse féin go Tobar an Uaignis*
Ag tabhairt an turais ar son mo ghrá ghil -
Níl mo shúil leat inniu ná amárach,
A mhuirnín dhílis, mo mhíle slán leat. (8)

Siúd é an Domhnach a dtug mé grá dhuit
A' Domhnach díreach roimh Dhomhnach Cásca
Is tú ar do ghlúine a' léamh na Páise
Sea bhí mo dhá shúil a' síor-thabhairt grá dhuit. [verse from Máire Áine Ní Dhonnchadha]

Dúirt mo mháithrín liom gan labhairt leat
Inniú ná amarach nó Dé Domhnaigh **
Is olc an tráth ar thug sí rabhadh dhom -
Is é fál ar an ngort é i ndiaidh na foghla. (11)

A mháthairín dhílis, tabhair mé féin do
Tabhair a bhfuil agat de'n tsaol go léir do
Téigh, thú féin, ag iarraidh na déirce,
Is ná gabh siar ná aniar dom' éiliú.
[Connacht verse published in Ó Duibhgeáin; I have substituted a Munster line closer to Lucy's for line 2: Tabhair na ba is na caoirigh go léir do give him all the cattle and sheep]

Tá mo ghrá-sa ar dhath na sméara [my love is the colour of blackberries]
Is ar dhath na n-airní lá breá gréine, [and the colour of the sloe on a sunny day]
Ar dhath na bhfraochóg ba dhuibhe an tsléibhe, [the hue of the darkest bilberry on the mountain]
'S is minic a bhí ceann dubh ar cholainn ghléigeal. [it's often a black head was on a bright body] (1)

Tá mo chroí-se chomh dubh le hairne
Nó le gual dubh a dhóifí i gceárta
Nó le bonn bróige ar hallaí bana
Agus tá lionn dubh mór os cionn mo gháire.(2)

Ní raibh id' ghrá-sa ach mám den tsneachta gheal, [your love was but a handful of bright snow]
Nó gaineamh i dtrá i lár na farraige, [or sand of the beach in the middle of the ocean]
Nó feóchan gaoithe thar dhruim na ngarraithe, [or a gust of wind on the over the garden]
Nó tuile thréan do bheadh t'réis lae fearthainne. [or a heavy flow after a day of rain (i.e., temporary)] (10)

Is mithid dom féin an baile seo a fhagáil; [it's time for me to leave this place]
Is géar an chloch 's is fuar an láib ann; [where the stone is sharp and the mud is cold]
Is ann a fuaireas guth gan éadáil [it's there I got a call that came to nothing]
Agus focal trom trom ó lucht an bhéadáin. [and a heavy heavy word from the gossipers] (12)

Fuagraim an grá - is mairg a thug é [I declare that love was an affliction]
Do mhac na mná úd ariamh nár thuig é [to the son of any woman who didn't understand it (?)]
Mo chroí ' mo lár gur fhág sé dubh é [my heart in my breast is left desolate by him/by it]
Is ní fheicim ar an tsráid seo ná in áit ar bith é. [and I don't see him on this street or anywhere else](13)

Bhain tú thoir dhíom 'gus bhain tú thiar dhíom
Bhain tú 'n ghealach is bhain tú an ghrian díom
Bhain tú an croí geal a bhí ' mo chliabh dhíom
'S is ró-mhór m'fhaitíos gur bhain tú Dia dom.(14)

* Verses published in "Ceol na nOileán" and "Amhrááin Ghrádha Chúige Chonnacht" reported by Seosamh Ó Duibhgeáin begin "Gheall tú dhomsa is rinne tú bréag liom/go gcuirfeá gúna orm de chlúmhach na n-éanlaith" - You promised, but it was a lie, that you would dress me in a gown of birds' feathers.

**Changed from "Tobar Phádraig" & "Aon lá den tseachtain ná Dé Domhnaigh" in this version. "Tobar an Uaignis" and "inniu nó amarach ..." , from other versions of the song, are even closer to Lucy's translation)

The translation by Lady Gregory may be found at thread 4277.
Most people singing in English use either the Séamus Ennis or Frank O'Connor translations. Also at thread 4277, Wolfgang gives a compilation of his favourite verses for singing.