|AOIBHINN AN GALAR ...||A PLEASANT ILL ...|
|Anon.||trans. Michael Smith - from Irish|
Aoibhinn an galar grádh mná,
ní do b'annamh dá rádh riamh;
grádh marbhthach don taobh is-toigh
beatha is aoibhne dár chrith Dia.
Bídh sé mar is aoibhne lais,
ní luigh orchra air ná aius;
cionnas do-gheabha sé bás,
an tí do-bheir grádh do mhnaoi?
Leór leis féin a mhéad do fhlaith,
beag a shuim i maith ná i maoin;
an tí do-bheir 's do-gheibh grádh
do fhan sé go bráth fá aoibh.
A pleasant ill, this love of women!
That sentiment's now seldom stated.
Although internal love is fatal,
no happier life has God created.
He'll be happy as can be,
by age and wasting unoppressed.
How could such a man expire
whom love for women has possessed.
What he has, is all he needs;
worldly goods are not his bliss.
For the man who gives and welcomes love
happiness is always his.
Trans. Copyright © Michael Smith 2007