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Dá bh-feicfeí-sa̸ Pallídh, K's í dul chum An Kénkich,

Bróga dKithte uirthi, K's Aprún gléigekl,

A'r, cháilíneadh

an t-sleibh', sin KgKibh

Yeázhán Glas.

'í is rámháil dí bhénus, géág ná rosg nglás

'Y A gruadh Air lásádh, 'sa̸ leácá már cháérá ; chiline«dhá An t-sléibh', sin KgKibh Yeázhán Glás.

A'r,

O chíoch chruinne, nár fionna̸dh 's na̸'s féuchadh,
A Dhik! gán me-si Kgus i-se n-éinfheácht,

A d-tom nglás coille, go n-déánfámáois réidhteách,

A chará mo chroídhe! nách Ann sin do bhéidheadh An rult ?

A's, chailíneadhá An t-sléibh', sin KgKibh
Yeízhán Glás.

Then Shane is the lad, that his bruises has bad,

For the girls and drinking bave made him half mad,

Then maids of the mountain there's for you Shane

Glas.

Have you chanc'd on your way handsome Sally to meet, With her gown snowy white, and her nice little feet,

When she's bound to the fair, or returning from

Mass;

With her smile so bewitching, her glances so bright,
And her bosom so temptingly fair to the sight :

Oh! might I but find, the sweet girl to my mind,
In yonder green holly-wood gently reclined,

What joy would it bring to the heart of Shane Glas.

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reaмar piuiqceatt.

Cearbhallán nó chán.

Séamas óg Pluíncéátt, bronntóir An phíona,

Fukir oideks Kir cheóltáibh, spórt Agus KóíbhneKs,

Air Kittin, Kir Ghréigis, 's Kir GhKoídheilz bhrea̸gh,

Líomhtha,

Grádh na m-bán n-óg é, An t-óig-fhea̸r gla̸n, sa̸óítheKmháil.

Is feárr 'ná sin féin, A mhéinn K's A mháithios,

Gukire níor thug buádh Kir, K' n-ukisleácht

bheartaibh,

Go m-budh fada sa̸éghlach, beódh é, gán bhrón Kir bith

ná ea̸sba̸idh,

'I A Ard-fhlKith mhór bhéurfádh ól fádá do ghasráidh.

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Oh! where shall thy like, my lov'd Plunkett, be found,

Thou soul of each circle when mirth reigns around,

Let the learned thy skill in each language declare, While fond sighs speak the feelings and thoughts of the

fair.

Oh! kind is thine heart, as each tongue can avow,

In sports and in pastimes unrivalld art thou ;

Long long be thy days, and unclouded by care,
And plenty be thine—that of plenty can share.

Say who has not heard of mine own favor'd youth,
The lov’d one whose looks beam with genius and truth ;

Oh! many is the maiden, and beauteous to see,
Who pines all in silence, my Plunkett, for thee.

An 3-cuklaidh sibh tréighthe An tréun- mháretich

rhúzkich,

Már a tá An Pluíncéáttách zlézheál, breázh, éudtrom,

lúchmháp ;

'Yé dúbhkirt gách máighdeán bhéusách, m-bíodh no céuda dhi Az úmhlúzhádh,

Mo léun! gán mé K's tú, már Kén Air Ar n-glúinibh.

Hí'l sin ma̸íghdeán bhéusách, ó Eirne go ZKillibh Amách, dá g-cualaidh riamh A thréidhe, n'r mhéinn leó bheith 'n-Kice seal,

A 3-coilleibh bhuin-An-fhiodáin tá án furra̸nách, brea̸gh, soinea̸nta,

Mhealladh na cailínídhe air chúl ná g-cra̸óíbheáchá.

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