Pé in Éirinn í
(Whoever She Is In Ireland)


Recordings

Artist: Eilis Kennedy
Album: Authentic Ireland, Vol 2 (2016)
Album: Westward (2017)

Artist: Muireann Nic Amhlaoibh
Album: Dual (2008)

Artist: Na Cadaidigh
Album: Fead An Iolair (1984)

Artist: Téada
Album: In Spite of the Storm (2013)


A six verse version.
Not sure where the sixth verse is from, it may not be from the original by Liam Dall Ó hIfearnáin.

Pé in Éirinn í

I ngleannta séimhe na héigse a bhím,
I bhfanntais péine i ngéibh' gach laoi,
An tseanbhean ghlé ba bhéasach gnaoi,
Do scanraigh mé, pé in Éirinn í, pé in Éirinn í.

Ní thráchtfaidh mé ar chéile Naoise,
A thug ár na nGael ar théacht don Chraobh,
Ná an bháb on nGréig a chéas an Traí,
Le grá mo chléibh, pé in Éirinn í, pé in Éirinn í.

Is brá, deas, dréimreach, réidh a dlaoi,
go barr an fhéir ina slaod ar bís;
A tláthfholt réidh de dhéalramh an flíos,
Ar ghrá mo chléibh, pé in Éirinn í, pé in Éirinn í.

Is cásmhar, taodach, déarach a bhím,
Go cráite, créimeach, céasta ón mhnaoi,
Is fánach, faon gan chéill ar baois,
Le grá don bhé, pé in Éirinn í, pé in Éirinn í.

Ar nóin nuair a théim ar thaobh Suí Finn
Faoi bhrón i gcéin is gan aon de mo bhuíon
Cé sheolfadh Aon Mhac Dé i mo líon
Ach stór mo chléibh, pé in Éirinn í, pé in Éirinn í.

Le barra mo mhéar ní léir dam scriobhadh
'S im theangain, mo léann, níl Béarla cruinn
Ní blasta mo théacs, i nGaolain chaoin
Le n-a molfainn mo bheith, pé in Éirinn í, pé in Éirinn í.


Whoever She Is In Ireland

In pleasant glens of learning I be,
In a painful faint trapped each day;
The pure slender woman, who was polite and kind,
Frightened me, whoever she is in Ireland.

I did not mention the partner of Naoise,
Who brought destruction to the Gaels on return to the Branch;
Nor the child from Greece who tormented Troy,
With the love of my heart, whoever she is in Ireland.

Her beautiful, neat tresses are unconfined,
On top of the grass in swathes of spirals;
(Sweeping the dew off the top of the grass)
Her tender head of hair resplendent as fleece,
Upon the love of my heart, whoever she is in Ireland.

It's sad, stubborn, tearful, I am!
Miserable, wounded, tortured by the woman,
Wandering, feeble, without sense and foolish!
With the love for the woman, whoever she is in Ireland.

At noon when I go to the side of Fionn's Seat,
In sadness alone with none of my company;
Who does the only Son of God send my way,
But the love of my heart, whoever she is in Ireland.

My handwriting is not adequate
And, alas, my English is not sufficiently perfect,
My text in tender Irish is not sweet enough,
That I might praise my woman, whoever she is in Ireland..