Unique Word Count: 168

Cois abhainn Ghleann an Chéime in Uíbh Laoghaire sea bhímse 

Mar a dtéann an fia san oíche chun síor chodladh só 

Ag machnamh seal liom féinig, ag déanamh mo smaointe. 

Ag éisteacht i gcoillte le binn ghuth na n-eon 

Nuair a chuala an cath ag teacht aniar is glór na n-each ag teacht leis síos 

Le fuaim an airm do chrith an sliabh 
's níor bhinn linn a nglór 

Thánadar go namhadmhar mar thiocfadh garda de chonnaibh nimhe 

Agus cumha mo chroí na sár-fhir a d’fhágadar gan treoir.

Níor fhan fear, bean ná páiste i mbun áitrimh ná tí acu 

Ná gártha goil do bhí acu ‘s na mílte olagón 

Ag féachaint ar an ngarda go láidir ‘na dtimpeall 

Ag lámhach ‘s ag líonadh ‘s ag scaoileadh ‘na dtreo 

An liú gur leath i bhfad i gcéin; ‘sé dúirt gach flaith ‘nár mhaith leis triall 

Gluaisigí go mear tá an cath dá riar agus téimís ‘na chóir 

Thángadar na sár-fhir, guím áthas ar Chlanna Gael 

‘S thiomáineadar na Pághánaigh le fánaig ar seol.

Ba ghairid dúinn go dtáinig an lámh láidir inár dtimpeall 

Gur scaipeadar ár ndaoine ar gach muilinn faoin gceo 

Bhí an Burrach ‘na bhumbáile ‘cu, Barnett agus Beecher, 

Hedges agus Faoitigh, is na mílte eile leo. 

A Rí na bhFeart go leagadh iad gan chliú, gan mheas, gan rath, gan séan. 

Go tinte meara i measc na bpian gan faoiseamh go deo, 

Céad moladh mór le hÍosa nár dhíolamar as a’ dtóir 

Ach bheith ag déanamh grinn de ‘s á insint ar só.

Do bhí Smith ar a thár in airde, ar ard leachainn rí dhuibh, 

Ba ghránna a bhí a ghní ‘s gan tinte ar a thóin nár bheireadh crídh is fearr iad, 

An t-ál seo Chalbhinn choíche 
nár ghéill riamh do Chríost ach púimp agus póit 

Beidh na sluaite fear ag teacht gan chíoch, 

Ar longaibh mara is fada a dtriall, 

‘S an Francach Théas nár mheathlaigh riamh, i bhfaobhar is i gcóir. 

Beidh cathracha á stríocadh agus tinteacha á lasadh leo 

Tá’n cairde fada díolta ‘s an líon rith ina gcomhair.

‘S a Chlanna Gaeil na n-Árann, ná stánaigí is ná stríocaigí, 

Is gearr anois gan mhoill go mbeidh críoch le bhur gnó 

Tógaíg suas bhúr gcráiste tá an t-ál seo le díbirt, 

Go hifrinn iad á díriú i dtinteachaibh teo. 

Bíodh bhur bpící glan i gceart ‘s i ngléas, téigí chun catha ná fanaíg ‘siar, 

Tá cabhair ag teacht le toil ó Dhia agus léirigí na póir 

Sáigí isteach go dána, in áitreamh a dtáinig romhaibh 

Is mithid daoibh é fháil ‘s tá ‘n cairde maith go leor.

Cill Na Martra Exile

I am a lonely exile, that has left his own dear nation,
To seek a situation in a land across the foam;
I sailed across the ocean wide, through hardships and through dangers,
And for years I've been a stranger, from my own dear Irish home.
Where once I lived contentedly, the friends I loved surrounded me.
Care nor grief ne'er troubled me, nor made my heart feel sore,
But now my days are over and I'm parted from my country,
And Cill na Martra's homely face, my eyes shall see no more of.

It was there my heart felt happy, until I took the notion
To sail across the ocean, from the Isle that gave me birth;
Sorrows dark and dismal clouds ne'er cast their shadows o'er me,
For I knew of pleasure only while stood on Irish earth.
Love of money tempted me, far from my cabin home to flee,
To go across the raging sea, in search of golden store;
I sailed away from Erin, bound for the land of liberty,
And blade my friends in Ireland adieu for ever more.

Twelve long and weary winters have come and have departed
Since I sailed across the ocean from where my father lies,
But still this loving heart of mine is ever fondly yearning,
For the home that I was born in and where I long to die.
The friends that once delighted me, in fancy's dreams, I still can see,
Around the cabin fire with me, when our daily toil was o'er,
The songs and merry voices come rushing to my memory,
In my heart I'm sadly thinking, I shall never see them more.

I have travelled through Columbia's shores, all toil and danger scorning,
To the farthest northern border and westward to the deep;
The broad extended cotton fields, and plains of Alabama,
The mines of lone Montana and Rockies wild and steep.
I hunted for prosperity but still it has eluded me,
Black misfortune followed me, no matter where I roamed,
And often in my anguish, I cursed the fate that parted me,
From the comrades of my boyhood and my own dear Irish home.

Sweet boyhood recollections, you will ever fondly bind me
To my friends I left behind me, far o'er the raging foam;
And then dear Cill na Martra, where one time I resided,
'Tis sad I am divided by the ocean wide from thee.
Age is overtaking me and youth is fast forsaking me,
The friends that once surrounded me, perhaps I'll see no more,
Until my days are over and death has come and taken me,
I fondly will remember thee dear land that I adore.

Johnny Browne