From the album Trad Linn - Roads of Clare
Terry was introduced to this song at the Fleadh Cheoil na hÉirinn in Listowel. Hundreds of years old, its haunting poetry and melody guarantees its enduring presence in Corca Dhuibhne, the gaeltacht in West Kerry.
A Mháirin de Barra, do mharaigh tú m'intinn
Do chuir tú beo i dtalamh mé i ngan fhios dom mhuintir.
Ar mo luí ar mo leaba dhom, is ortsa bhím ag cuimhneamh
Is ar m’éirí dhom ar maidin, gur chealg tú an croí ionam.
Do thugas is thugas is thugas óm chroí greann duit
Ar Dhomhnach Fhéile Mhuire na gCoinneal sa teampall.
Do shúilín ba ghlaise ná uisce na ngeamhartha,
Is do bhéilín ba bhinne ná an druid nuair a labhrann.
Do shíl mé tú a mhealladh le briathra is le póga,
Do shíl mé tú a mhealladh le leabhair is le móide;
Do shíl mé tú a mhealladh ar bhreacadh na h-eornan
Ach d'fhág tú dubhach dealbh ar theacht don bhliain nódh mé.
Is aoibhinn don talamh a shiúlann tú féin air,
Is aoibhinn don talamh ar a sheineann tú bhéarsa;
Is aoibhinn don leaba ina luíonn tú fé éadach
Is ró-aoibhinn don bhfear, a gheobhaidh tú mar bhean chéile.
A Mháirín, glac mo chomhairle, is ná téir ar t-aimhleas;
Ná pós aon stróinse, fear séidte na hadhairce.
Ach gaibh leis an óigfhear a nglaonn siad Ó Floinn air;
Ach pós de ghrá réitigh, ós é is toil le do mhuintir.
O Máirín de Barra, you have tormented my mind
You have buried me alive without my family knowing
As I lie on my bed, I’m thinking of you
And by the morning, you have my heart beguiled.
I gave and I gave and I gave my devotion to you
On Candlemas Sunday, in the Church
Your eye was greener than dew on blades of corn
And your mouth was sweeter than the starling ‘s song
I thought I would win you with promises and kisses
I thought I would win you with books and with oaths
And I thought I would win you at the ripening of the barley
But you left me destitute at the coming of the new year
It's lovely for the ground on which you walk
It's lovely for the place where you play verses
It's lovely for the bed where you lie under its blankets
And heavenly for the young man who will get you as his wife
Máirín, take my advice and don't be led astray
Don’t marry any vagabond the man who blows his horn
But go with the young man they call O'Flynn
Marry your chosen love, since it is the will of your people.