Mna Na h'Eireann

Ta bean in Eirinn a phronnfadh sead damh is mo shaith le n-ol
Is ta bean in Eireann is ba bhinne leithe mo rafla ceoil
No seinm thead; ata bean in Eirinn is niorbh fhearr lei beo
Mise ag leimnigh no leagtha i gcre is mo tharr faoi fhod

Ta bean in Eirinn a bheadh ag ead liom mur bhfaighfinn ach pog
O/ bhean ar aonach, nach ait an sceala, is mo dhaimh fein leo;
Ta bean ab fhearr liom no cath is cead dhiobh nach bhfagham go deo
Is ta cailin speiriuil ag fear gan Bhearla, dubhghranna croin.

Ta bean a dearfadh da siulann leithe go bhfaighinn an t-or,
Is ta bean 'na leine is is fearr a mein no na tainte bo
Le bean a bhuairfeadh Baile an Mhaoir is clar Thir Eoghain,
Is ni fhaicim leigheas ar mo ghalar fein ach scaird a dh'ol.


Cover translation

The Women of Ireland

There's a woman in Ireland who'd
Give me a gem and my fill to drink,
There's a woman in Ireland to whom
My singing is sweeter than the music of strings
There's a woman in Ireland who
Would much prefer me leaping
Than laid in the clay and my belly under the sod

There's a woman in Ireland who'd envy me
If I got naught but a kiss
From a woman at a fair, isn't it strange,
And the love I have for them
There's a woman I'd prefer to a battalion,
And a hundred of them whom I will never get
And an ugly, swarthy man with
No English has a beautiful girl

There's a woman who would say
That if I walked with her I'd get the gold
And there's the woman of the shirt
Whose mien is better than herds of cows
With a woman who would deafen baile
An mhaoir and the plain of tyrone
And I see no cure for my disease
But to give up the drink


Alternate translation

The Women of Ireland

There's a woman in Eirinn who'd give me shelter and my fill of ale;
There's a woman in Ireland who'd prefer my strains to strings being played;
There's a woman in Eirinn and nothing would please her more
Than to see me burning or in a grave lying cold.

There's a woman in Eirinn who'd be mad with envy if I was kissed
By another on fair-day, they have strange ways, but I love them all;
There are women I'll always adore, battalions of women and more
And there's this sensuous beauty and she shackled to an ugly boar.

There's a woman who promised if I'd wander with her I'd find some gold
A woman in night dress with a loveliness worth more than the woman
Who vexed Ballymoyer and the plain of Tyrone;
And the only cure for my pain I'm sure is the ale-house down the road.