For what it's worth, another translation.

T H E   L I T T L E   B E N C H   O F   R U S H E S

One day I journeyed lonely
Along the road to milk-white Clare,
My dog beside me only,
My gun in hand, and free from care;
When, lo! I met a maiden
Of bright and golden shining hair --
With greenest rushes laden,
To make a bench -- this fairest fair!

"O, girl of greenest rushes,
This burden suits you not too well --
I fain would spare your blushes,
But come with me to yonder dell;
The priests will never know it,
Until the songful, soulful thrush
Speak Gaelic as a poet,
The blackbird from the greenwood bush.

"My darling girl, my own dear,
Don't pout, but lay your rushes by,
You know you are here alone, dear,
And have no friend to help you nigh.
I've tossed your rushes rather,
But more remain uncut behind --
And I'll hie off, and gather
For you a larger bench, you'll find."


author: James Clarence Mangan
date: 1849 (the year he died)
p. 171,
Volume 4, Poems
The Collected Works of James Clarence Mangan
Irish Academic Press: 1999