Patrick Sarsfield led the Jacobite Wild Geese who fled to France after the Treaty of Limerick in 1691. Sarsfield was mortally wounded at the Battle of Landen on July 29, 1693. He is immortalized in this beautiful song.
A Phádraic Sáirséal, slán go dtí tú!
Ó chuadhais don Fhrainc 's do champaidhe sgaoilte,
Ag déanamh do ghearain leis na ríghthe,
'S dfhág tú Éire 'gus Gaoidheil bhoicht claoidhte.
Och, ochón!
Patrick Sarsfield, fare thee well!
Since you've gone to France and your camps are scattered,
Making your supplication to the kings,
And you've left Ireland and the Irish bereft and oppressed.
O alas!
A Phádraic Sáirséal, is duine le Dia tú,
Is beannaighthe an talamh ar shiubhail tú riamh air;
Go mbeannaighe an ghealach gheal 's an ghrian duit,
Ó thug tú an lá ó lámha Righ Liam leat.
Patrick Sarsfield, you are a Godly person,
Blessed is the ground wherever you've walked;
May you be blessed by the bright moon and sun,
Since you stood against King William.
Mo chúig céad slán chughaibh, a hallaoi Luimnidh,
'S chum na buidhni áluinn do bhí 'nar gcuideachtadh;
Bhidheach teite cnámha 'guinn is cárdaighe imeartha,
'S briathra Dé dhá léagamh go minic dhuinn.
Five hundred farewells to you, halls of Limerick,
And to the fine followers in our company:
We had bonfires and card games,
And the Word of God read to us often.
Is iomdha saighdiúir meaghrach meanamnach
Do ghaibh an tslighesi le seacht seachtmhuine
Fae ghunadh, fae phíceadh, fae chloidheamh cinn airgid,
Acht tá siad sinte shíos an Eachdhruim.
Many the cheerful, vigorous soldier
Has gone this way these past seven weeks
With a gun, with a pike, with a silver pommeled sword,
But now they are lifeless in Aughrim.
'Cia súd thall air chnoc Bheinn Éidir?'
'Saighdiúir bocht mé le Rígh Séamus;
Do bhí mé anurraig a arm 's an éadach,
Acht táim a mbliaghannadh ag iarraidh déirce.'
"Who is that there on Howth Hill?"
"I'm a poor soldier of King James
Last year I was armed and in uniform,
But this year I am begging for alms."
Do cuireadh an chéad bhrise oruinn ag droichead na Bóinne,
An dara brise ag droichead na Sláinge,
An trímhúgheadh brise an Eachdhruim Uí Cheallaighe,
'S Éire chúbartha, mo chúig céad slán leat!
We were first defeated at the bridge of the Boyne,
Our second defeat at the bridge of Slane,
Our third at Aughrim of the O'Kellys,
And sweet Ireland, five hundred farewells to you!
Annsúd atá siad, barr uaisle Éirionn,
Diúcidhe, Búrcaig, 's mac Rígh Séamus;
Captaoin Talbóid, croidhe na féile,
'S Pádraic Sáirséal, gradh ban Éirionn.
Yonder are they, the nobility of Ireland,
Dukes, Burkes, and the son of King James;
Captain Talbot, the soul of generosity,
And Patrick Sarsfield, the darling of Irish women.
