The Dord Feinne

‘Se do bheatha, O woman that wast sorrowful,

What grieved us was thy being in chains,

Thy beautiful country in the possession of rogues,

And thou sold to the Galls,

Oró, ‘se do bheatha a bhaile,

Oró, ‘se do bheatha a bhaile,

Oró, ‘se do bheatha a bhaile,

Now at summer’s coming!

Thanks to the God of miracles that we see,

Altho’ we live not a week thereafter,

Gráinne Mhaol and a thousand heroes

Proclaiming the scattering of the Galls!

Oró, ‘se do bheatha a bhaile,

Oró, ‘se do bheatha a bhaile,

Oró, ‘se do bheatha a bhaile,

Now at summer’s coming!

Gráinne Mhaol is coming from over the sea,

The Fenians of Fál as a guard about her,

Gaels they, and neither French nor Spaniard,

And a rout upon the Galls!

Oró, ‘se do bheatha a bhaile,

Oró, ‘se do bheatha a bhaile,

Oró, ‘se do bheatha a bhaile,

Now at summer’s coming!