Let the farmer praise his grounds
Let the huntsman praise his hounds
Let the shepherd praise his dewyscented lawn
Oh but I'm more wise than they
Spend each happy night and day
With my darlin' little cruiscín lán, lán, lán
My darlin' little cruiscín lán
Oh, gradh mo chroide mo cruiscín
(Oh, graw moh kree moh krooshkeen)
Slainte geal Mauverneen
(Slawnta gal Mohvoorneen)
Gradh mo chroide mo cruiscín lán, lán, lán
(Graw moh kree moh krooshkeen lawn, lawn, lawn)
Oh, gradh mo chroide mo cruiscín lán
(Oh, graw moh kree moh krooshkeen lawn)
Immortal and divine
Great Bacchus, god of wine
Create me by adoption your own son
In hopes that you'll comply
That my glass shall ne'er run dry
Nor my darlin' little cruiscín lán, lán, lán
My darlin' little cruiscín lán
Oh, gradh mo chroide mo cruiscín
Slainte geal Mauverneen
Gradh mo chroide mo cruiscín lán, lán, lán
Oh, gradh mo chroide mo cruiscín lán
Oh, when cruel death appears
In a few but happy years
You'll say: "Oh, won't you come along with me?"
I'll say: "Begone, you knave,
For King Bacchus gave me lave
To take another cruiscín lán, lán, lán
To take another cruiscín lán"
Oh, gradh mo chroide mo cruiscín
Slainte geal Mauverneen
Gradh mo chroide mo cruiscín lán, lán, lán
Oh, gradh mo chroide mo cruiscín lán
Then fill your glasses high
Let's not part with lips so dry
For the lark now proclaims it is the dawn
And since we can't remain
May we shortly meet again
To fill another cruiscín lán, lán, lán
To fill another cruiscín lán
Oh, gradh mo chroide mo cruiscín
Slainte geal Mauverneen
Gradh mo chroide mo cruiscín lán, lán, lán
Oh, gradh mo chroide mo cruiscín lán |
"Cruiscín Lán" means "Little Full Jug"; "grá mo chroi mó cruiscín": "love of my heart, my little jug"; "slainte geal mo mhuairnin": "bright health, my precious one." Poetically this is one of the better drinking songs. The music of the chorus sounds more Russian than Irish, but the sentiments are universal to any drinking man. |
