Caitrìona, Cèile Mac Rìgh Èireann Do Chathie (Catherine, Wife of the Prince of Ireland For Chathie)

Mise Seathan, oighre Èireann,

Dearbh-fhine Uí Nèill, ’s mar chèile

Bàrr-gheug Leathanach, mo reul-iùil,

Mo threòir, mo stiùir, is mo thrèine.

B’ annsa siubhal le mo cheud-ghaol,

Siubhal monaidh, siubhal slèibhe,

Cha bu chrùbag ’s cha bu chreubhag,

Màrsach thu a’ chridhe threubhaich

Do bhòidhchead is math is lèir dhomh

Tro thrusgan a’ bheagan èididh

Fon chòta ruadh suathadh slèisne,

Fon a’ chriosan dubh mud lèine

Bruinne sheang is broilleach peucaig

Àilleachd thairis air na leugan

Leis na laigh mi uair bho chèile

’S leis na dhùisg mi ri àm-èirigh

A thasgaidh, a m’ eudail as mìne

Laigheadh leam air leabaidh-lìne

Ach a b’ annsa leam air frìthean

Far am biodh tu fhèin ’s mi-fhìn ann

Seathan mi is laoigh do chèille,

’S ged a mheasadh mi mar reubal,

Ann am beachd rìoghachdan cèine

’S ged a dhèanadh cùirt mo lèireadh

Cha tug thu do lagh no rìgh mi

No don chlèireach, no do Chrìosd mi

’S ann a rinn thu fhèin mo dhìonadh

Le rabhadh is comhairle chiallaich 

’S tusa rinn Aontruim a sgèitheadh

Threòraicheadh le cinnt air breas-ròd

An Lunnainn ’s a-rithis Dùn Èideann

’S tu rim thaobh, cha dh’èireadh beud dhomh

A Chaitrìona, a ghaoil ghlèghil

Mo shaogh’l air an dèanainn sèisdrich

’S tusa leig le Èirinn èirigh 

Ciod a dhèanainn fhèin as d’eugmhais?

I am Shane, heir to Ireland,  

True son of O’ Neill, and as companion,

Highest branch of the MacLean, my guiding star,

My direction, my helm, and my strength.

It was my wont to roam with my first love,

Roaming moors, roaming hill-slopes,

No crooked hag, no puny woman,

A strong-hearted woman who stood her ground.

Your loveliness I can well appreciate

Through your little underclothing,

Beneath the russet coat rubbing against thighs

Beneath the black belt about your shirt.

A slender waist and a peacock breast,

Beauty beyond jewels,

That I lay with more than once

And with whom I wake at rising.  

My treasure, my finest darling,

Who’d lie with me on linen bed

But with whom I’d rathbe on the deer-forests,

Where you and I could be.

I am Shane and the calf of your love,

And though I’d be branded a rebel

In the judgement of foreign kingdoms,

And though court should torment me

You did not give me away to law or king,

Nor to clergy, nor to Christ,

Rather you protected me

With wise counsel and advice.   

It you who shaped Antrim

That surely guided on the king’s road

To London and to Edinburgh

With you by my side, I would come to no harm.

Catherine, my pure-white love,

My whole world that I would sing of,

It was you allowed Ireland to flourish,

What should I do without you?