‘S a Johnny Seoighe, tuig mo ghlórtha, ‘S mé tiocht le dóchas fán
do dhéin
Oh Johnny Joyce, heed my voice, As I come to you full
of hope
Mar is tú an Réalt Eolais is deise lóchrainn, as mo chúile ag Teampall
Dé
You are the Star of Knowledge, the brightest beacon
in the Temple of God
Is tú bláth na hóige, is binne glórtha, dar leag mo shúil ó rugadh
mé
You are the flower of youth, of the finest talk that
my eye has seen since I was born
Agus as ucht Chríost, is tabhair dom relief,
nó go gcaitear Oíche Nollag féin.
And for the love of Christ, grant me relief, or at
least until Christmas Eve is over.
Agus lá arna mhárach a fuair mé an páipéar, ‘s nach mé a bhí sásta,
‘s mé a goil chun siúil
And on the next day I got the piece of paper, and I
wasn’t happy, me going on my way
Ach ‘s ní bhfuair mé freagra ar bith an lá sin, ach
mo bhean ‘s mo pháistí, is iad amuigh faoin drúcht.
But I got no answer at all that day, but my wife and
my children left out under the dew.
Tá mé bruite, dóite, sciúrtha, feannta, liobraithe, gearrtha le neart
an tsiúil
I am tired, bitter, lashed, frozen, upset and lacerated
with the force of the walking
Is a Mhisther Joyce tá an workhouse lán, is ní ghlacfar
ann aon fhear níos mó.
And Mister Joyce, the workhouse is full, and they won’t
accept one more man.
‘S nach mór an chlúi do bhaile Chárna, an fhad ‘s tá an lánúin seo
a goil thríd
It is a great source of fame to the village of Carna
as long as this couple is passing through
‘S gur deis aille scéimh na mná, ná an “Morning Star” nuair a shoilsionn
sí
For the woman’s appearance is as fine as the Morning
Star when it rises
Tá an bhánríon tinn, is í, lag ina luí, ‘s deir dochtúirí go bhfaighidh
sí bás
The queen is ill and lying low, the doctors say that
she will die
‘S go bé fios an údair go réir mar deir siad liomsa,
nuair nach bhfuil sí póstá le Mister Joyce.
The reason for it all as they said it to me, that she
is not married with Mister Joyce.