Thios I bPort an Chabhlaigh,
Oigbhean seang a`siul i mbeal na toinne,
Is I a caoile a chuireann cluain ar chuile stocach,
Shiulfa tamaill sula gcasfai a leitheid ortsa,
No go bhfeicfea radharc chomh brea mar shuaimhneas aigne.


Thios I bport an Chabhlaigh,
Buachaill og a`sugradh ins a` ngaineamh,
A riocht faoina lamha beaga aige,
Mo mhairg a chaislean brea istoiche,
Nuair a sciobhfaidh sloite na mara
a bhallai leo.

Iascairi an chladaigh,
Ag obair mar is toil leo leis na ciantaibh,
Ag gabhail ar thoir na mbradan um thrathnona,
Is I an fharraige a reim duchais,
A`s an ghriain ann mar a bheadh siul chirce.

In sleepy Portacowley,
A slender maiden paddles on the shore,
Each young man`s eye transfixed by form and grace,
You`d travel far to meet her match and equal,
Or such a sight to greet a roving eye.

Down in Portacowley,
A young boy builds ,delighted ,in the sand,
A little kingdom all beneath his hands,
A pity on his little world this evening,
When the sea hosts shall ravage those fine walls.

The fishers on the shoreline,
Working as they`ve done for generations,
Chasing after salmon in the evening,
This sea is their inheritance from nature,
And the sun behind them sets in amber glow.