O Seathan, Seathan, bereft of life
Own son to my king from Donegal

Often have I lain beneath thy cloak
If I did, it was not in a homestead

But in a green hollow in a tree-sheltered field
Under the slope of the rugged blue peaks

The wind from the mountains sweeping over us
The wind from the glens with a loud sounding whine

Many a glen and ben we traversed
I was in Islay and in Uist with you

I was in Sleat of the yellow-haired woman with you
I was in Iona of the nuns with you

I was in the land of birds and eggs with you
I was in Ireland and in Lathium (Province of Munster)

I travelled to Breathann and to Bruthan with you
I travelled to Mòrthir and to Muthairn with you

I listened to a mass in Cill Cumha with you
I drank from the well of the journeying with you