This is a song of an Irishman who is enlisted in the British army and parted from his lover.
The transcription is from Johnny Mháirtín Learaí Mac Donnchadha, "Contae Mhuigheo", recording available from Cló Iar-Chonnachta.

TÁ NA PAIPÉIR DÁ SAIGHNEÁIL

Tá na paipéir dá saighneáil is tá na saighdiúir ag dul anonn
Tá drumadóir aoibhinn aerach le Clanna Gael ag gabháil go Tír na Long
Dá mbeadh agamsa nach duit a bhéarfainn céad is dhá mhíle bó
Ar a chuntar thú bheith i d'fhéirín liom go Contae Mhaigh Eo.

Nuair a éirimse amach go huaighneach is a bhreathnaím anonn ar an gcnoc úd thall
Bím ag smaoineamh ar mo chúilín dualach a d'fhág an arraing trí mo lár.
Tá mo chroí istigh `na leac `s `na ghual dubh, is fear mo thrua níl ach Rí na nGrást
Ach pé ar bith ógfhear a gheobhas uaim thú go síntear suas é i gcónra cláir.

Tá mo stocaí -se stróicthe, tá mo phócaí gan pingin.
Tá mo nuachulaith phósta ar ndóigh gan aon ní.
Tá gine i dteach an óil orm is níor ól mé riamh braon
Ach le cumha in do dhiaidh a stóirín, ní bheadh mé beo mí.

Is nach aoibhinn do na héininí a éiríonn go hard
Is a bhíonn ag ceiliúradh le chéile ar aon chraoibhín amháin
Ach ní mar sin domsa, ná do mo chéad míle grá
Fada, fánach óna chéile a bhíonn a n-éirí gach lá.

A longer version of this song can be found in Brian O'Rourke, "Blás Meala", Blackrock: Irish Academic Press, 1985.

Here is how O'Rourke (very literally) translates verses corresponding to verses # 1,2 and 4 above.:

The papers are being signed and the soldiers are going abroad; the Irish have fine lively drummers going to the Land of the Ships (i.e., England). If I had them, it's to you I would give a hundred and two thousand cows, on condition that you would come as a reward with me to County Mayo.

When I rise out lonely and when I look from me on that hill beyond, I think about your ringleted head which left a severe pain through my breast. My heart inside is a lump of black coal and no man pities me but the King of Graces; and any young girl [cailín óg]/man [in O'Rourke's version the deserted girl laments, in the version published above we have ógfhear at all who takes you from me, may she be stretched out in a wooden coffin.

Isn't it delightful for the little birds that rise up high and sing together on one single little branch? It's not the same for my hundred thousand loves; it's far distant from each other is our rising each day.

A poetic translation is also given in "Blás Meala", ending

Oh, how I envy the singing bird, flying to and from her nest,
Making music with the mate she chooses and sharing with him her hours of rest;
Oh, I wish my dear were with me here and laid his [her] weary head upon my breast,
But when the sun shines high in my darling's sky, I see it sinking in the west.