O Seathan, o Seathan of the souls,

Hù rù na hur i bhi ò

Own son to my King from Tìr Chonaill

Na bhi hao bhò hao bhi ò an



Oft 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 glens with a sough taking

Its fill from the first burgeoning of spring.

Many a glen and ben we traversed,

I was in Islay I was in Mull with you,

I was in the land of the nuns with you,

I was in Ireland, I was in Latium with you,

I traversed Brittany and Burgundy with you,

I traversed the Mainland and the Mearns with you

I traversed the Boyne, I traversed Munster with you,

I heard mass in Cill Chumha with you,

I heard the music of the fairy mansions with you,

I drank a draught from the well of wandering with you.

O brown-haired Seathan, thou gentle hero,

Small is the place in which I would put thee,

Between Brìde and her soft kerchief,

Between a fair virgin and her silken mantle.

But Seathan is in the lonely chamber,

Without drinking of cups or goblets,

Without drinking to music, without kiss from seductive

women,

But strait bands on his shoulders

And looped bands on the bier poles.

I am a sister of Aodh and yellow-haired Brian,

I am a kinswoman of Fionn Mac Cumhaill,

I am the wife of brown haired Seathan the wanderer,

I am a poor, sad, mournful, sorrowful wife.