A beautifully song version of this bit of sean-nós sung by Síle Denvir and Líadan.

Amhrán Mhuínse

Dhá mbeinn trí léig i bhfarraige nó ar sléibhte i bhfad ó thír
Gan aoinneach beo i mo ghaobhar ann ach raithneach ghlas is fraoch,
An sneachta á shéideadh anuas orm, is an ghaoith dhá fhuadach díom,
‘S mé a bheith ag comhrá le mo Taimín Bán, níorbh fhada liom an oíche.

A Mhuire dhílis, céard a dhéanfas mé, tá an geimhreadh seo ‘tíocht fuar,
A Mhuire dhílis, céard a dhéanfas an teach seo is a bhfuil ann?
Nach óg, a stór, a d’imigh tú, le linn na huaire breá,
Le linn don chuach bheith ag seinm ceoil, gach duilliúr glas ag fás.

Má bhíonn mo chlann sa mbaile a’am an oíche a bhfaighidh mé bás,
Ó tórróidh siad go groíúil mé trí oíche is trí lá;
Beidh píopaí deasa cailce a’am agus ceaigeannaí is iad lán,
Beidh triúr ban óg ó shléibhte ann le mé a chaoineadh os cionn cláir.

Is gearraí amach mo chónra dhom as fíorscoth geal na gclár,
Má tá Seán Ó hEidhin i Muínis bíodh sé déanta ón a láimh;
Bíodh mo chaipín is mo ribín inti istigh, é go rídheas ar mo cheann,
Tabharfadh Paidín Mór go Muínis mé nó is garbh a bhéas an lá.

Gabháil siar thar Inse Gaine dhom bíodh an bhratach insa gcrann,
Ná cuir’ i Leitir Caladh mé mar ní ann atá mo dhream;
Ach tugaí siar go Muínis mé, ‘n áit a gcaoinfear mé go hard,
Beidh soilse ar na dúmhchannaí - ní bheidh uaigneas orm ann.

The Song of Muínis

If I were three leagues out at sea or on mountains far from home,
Without any living thing near me but the green fern and the heather,
The snow being blown down on me, and the wind snatching it off again,
And I were to be talking to my fair Taimín and I would not find the night long.

Dear Virgin Mary, what will I do, this winter is coming on cold.
And, dear Virgin Mary, what will this house do and all that are in it?
Wasn’t it young, my darling, that you went, during a grand time,
At a time when the cuckoo was playing a tune and every green leaf was growing?

If I have my children home with me the night that I will die,
They will wake me in mighty style three nights and three days;
There will be fine clay pipes and kegs that are full,
And there will be three mountainy women to keen me when I’m laid out.

And cut my coffin out for me, from the choicest brightest boards;
And if Seán Hynes is in Muínis, let it be made by his hand.
Let my cap and my ribbon be inside in it, and be placed stylishly on my head,
And Big Paudeen will take me to Muínis for rough will be the day.

And as I go west by Inse Ghainimh, let the flag be on the mast.
Oh, do not bury me in Leitir Calaidh, for it’s not where my people are,
But bring me west to Muínis, to the place where I will be mourned aloud;
The lights will be on the dunes, and I will not be lonely there.