An Gabhar Ban (The White Goat) - Clannad

Sa tsean ghleann thiar a bhi sí raibh

Go dtí gur fhás na hadharc' uirthi

Bliain is céad is corradh laethe

Go dtáinig an aois go tréan uirthi

Bhi sí gcró bheag ins an cheo

Go dtáinig feil’Eoin is gur éalaigh sí

Thart an ród san bealach mór

Gur lean a tóir go gear uirthi

Ni raibh nduine ar a tóir ach Donnchú óg

Is d’ith sí an lón san t-anlann air

Ni raibh aige ina dhorn ach ceap túine mór

Agus leag sé anuas ón arradh í

Nuair a chuala an gabhar bán go raibh sí ar lár

Thug sí léim chun tárrthála

Thug sí rás 's ni raibh sí sásta

Is leag sí spíon an táilliúra

Chomh cruinn le rón gur thóg sí feoil

Gan pis gan mórán déibhirce

Ach d’ith sí cib agus barr an fhraoich

Slánlús min is craobhógai

Draoin is dreas is cuilcann glas

Gach ní ar dhath na h-áinleoga

Cutharán sléibhe, duilliúr féile

Caora sréana agus blainséogai

Chuaigh sí dhíol cios le Caiftín Spits

Is chraethnaigh a croi go dtréigfí í

Chaith sí an oíche ar bheagán bidh

Mar ndúil is go geasfaí féar uirthi

D’Fan sí 'a óiche i dtóin Ros Coill

Is chaith sí é go pléisúra

Go dtáinig an slua ar maidin go luath

Is thug siad amach as Éirinn í

Sa tsean ghleann thiar a bhi sí raibh

Go dtí gur fhás na hadharc' uirthi

Bliain is céad is corradh laethe

Go dtáinig an aois go tréan uirthi

Bhi sí gcró bheag ins an cheo

Go dtáinig feil’Eoin is gur éalaigh sí

Thart an ród san bealach mór

Gur lean a tóir go gear uirthi

She was in the old western valley

Until the horns grew on her

One hundred and one hundred days

That she came of age strongly

She was a little bitch in the fog

That John's feil came and escaped

Around the road in the highway

That her popularity followed her closely

Her pursuit was none other than young Donnchú

She ate lunch in the sauce

He only had a large fireball in his fist

And he knocked her down from the floor

When the white goat heard that she was missing

She jumped to the rescue

She gave a race and she was not happy

She knocked the tailor's spine

As accurate as a seal that she took meat

No piss, no big deal

But she ate cib and the top of the heather

Wholemeal and twigs

Green thorns and thistles and reeds

Everything in the color of the wings

Mountain gooseberry, festive foliage

Strawberries and blueberries

She went to sell rent to Captain Spits

Her heart trembled at her abandonment

She spent the night on little food

Desiring to be grazed by grass

She stayed the night in the foothills of Roskill

And she wore it pleasantly

That the crowd arrived early in the morning

They brought her out of Ireland

She was in the old western valley

Until the horns grew on her

One hundred and one hundred days

That she came of age strongly

She was a little bitch in the fog

That John's feil came and escaped

Around the road in the highway

That her popularity followed her closely