Cé hé sin amuigh, a bhfuil faobhar ar a ghuth, ag réabadh mo dhorais dúnta? Mise Eamonn an chnuic, atá báite fuar fliuch, ó shíorshiúl sléibhte is gleannta. A lao’ ghil’ ‘s a chuid, céard do dhéannfainnse dhuit, mura gcuirfinn ort binn de m’ ghúna? ‘s go bhfuil púdar go tiubh á shíshéideadh leat, is go mbeimis araon múchta.”
A chumann ‘s a shearc, ó rachaimid seal faoi choillte na meas cumhra, mar a bhfaighimid an breac, is an lon ar a nead, an fia ‘gus an poc ag búireach, na héníní binne, ar na géaga bheag seinm, ‘s an chuaichín ar bharr an iúir ghlais. Go brách, brách, ní thiocfaidh an bás inár ngaire i lár na coille cumhra.
Is fada mise amuigh, faoi sneachta is faoi shioc, is gan dánacht agam ar éinne. Mo sheisreach gan scór, mo bhranar gan cur, is gan iad agam ar aon chor. Níl cairde agam, is danaid liom sin, a glacfadh mé moch ná déanach. Is go gcaithear mé dul, thar farraige soir ós ann nach bhfúil aon de mo ghaolta.
Translation:
\"Who's that outside whose voice is urgent, pounding on my closed door?\"
\"I'm Éamonn of the hill, drowned, cold and wet, from endlessly traveling mountains and glens.\"
\"Dearest love and treasure, what can I do for you but cover you with the lap of my dress?\"
And black gunpowder will be fired endlessly at us, and we will both perish!\"
My darling, my beloved, we will go off together for a while, amidst forests of fragrant fruit, so we can catch the trout, with the blackbird in his nest, the deer and the buck calling, the sweet little birds singing on branches, and the little cuckoo on top of the green yew tree. Forever, forever, death will not come near us, in the middle of our fragrant forest.
\"I've long been outside in snow and in frost, not daring to approach anyone.
My fallow unplanted, my team in need of unyoking, and I no longer have them at all!
I have no friend— how that grieves me— who’d take me in, early or late.
And so I must go eastward across the sea, for it’s there I have no kindred.\"