Translation of the song lyrics An Gabhar Ban (The White Goat) - Clannad

An Gabhar Ban (The White Goat) (original)

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

An Gabhar Ban (The White Goat) (translation)

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