I'd translate it just *marginally* differently, but it's not any wild difference; I'm also working from a slightly different version, which I'll give in Irish below.

"Who is that outside
That has fever in his voice
Smashing at my locked door?

I am Eamon of the Hill
That is drowned wet and cold
From forever-walking mountains and glens.

My tragic fair one, and my chosen one,
What should I do with you
But to put you safe under my skirts?
And that [gun]powder would blow back thickly on you
And we will be extinguished as one.

I am far outside under snow and under ice
And without boldness or any spirit.
My ploughland without a mark, my grassland without seed
And these not in my ownership in any case.

I have no friend, and this is a regret to me
That I called early and late
And that I must go overseas east
Where I have no ties.

Cé hé sin amugh a bhfuil faobhar ar a ghuth
Ag réabadh mo dhorais dhúnta?
Mise Éamonn an chnoic atá báiste fuair fliuch
Ó shiorshiúl sléibhte is gleannta

A léir-ghil is a chuid
Cad a dhéanaimse dhuit
Mura gcuirfinn ort binn de mo ghúna?
Is go bfhuil púdar go tiubh á shiorshéadeadh leat
Is go mbeimis araon múchta.

Is fada mise amuigh faoi shneachta is faoi sioc
Is gan dánach agam ar aon neach.
Mo sheisreach gan scor, mo bhranar gan cur
Agus gan iad agam ar aon chor.

Níl chara agam, is danaid liom san
Do ghlacfadh mé moch agus déanach
Is go gcaithfidh mé dul thar farraige soir
Ós ann nach bhfuil mo ghaolta.