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The title translates to "My Gallant Lad" and the original is in Irish. These words are taken from the version as recorded by the Chieftains with Sting where only the chorus is sung in Irish. There is some uncertainty about the wording in the verses so several sources were referenced.
Am7 x02010
Mo Ghile Mear
by trad
Chorus: Irish
'Sé mo laoch, mo ghile mear,
'sé mo chaesar, gile mear,
suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas fhéin
ó chuaigh i gcéin mo ghile mear.
Chorus: English translation
My gallant lad is my hero,
He's my hero, gallant lad,
I found neither sleep nor happiness
since my gallant lad went far away.
( Chorus: Phonetically
[G] Shay mu [D] laych maw [Em] ghilleh [G] marr
[C] Shay mo [G] haze ah [Em] ghille [D] marr
[G] Soon naw [D] shane ne [G] vore as- [Em] pheyne
O [G] cchuey a- [Em] gain maw [D] ghilleh [G] marr )
[Bm] Grief and pain are [Am] all I [G] know
[Em] My heart is [Bm] sore my [Am7] tears [D] a'flow
We [G] saw him [Bm] go an [Am7] buachaill [G] beo [the lively lad]
No [Am7] word we [G] know of [Em] him [D] och’in
Chorus
A proud young son of several year
A high born scion of gentle mean
A fiery blade engaged to me
He'd break the bravest in the field
Chorus
I’ll sing his praise as sweet harps play
And proudly toast his noble fame
Whose spirit and with mind aflame
So wish him strength and length of days
Chorus
'Sé mo laoch, mo ghile mear,
'sé mo chaesar, gile mear,
suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas fhéin
ó chuaigh i gcéin mo ghile mear.
Chorus: English translation
My gallant lad is my hero,
He's my hero, gallant lad,
I found neither sleep nor happiness
since my gallant lad went far away.
( Chorus: Phonetically
[G] Shay mu [D] laych maw [Em] ghilleh [G] marr
[C] Shay mo [G] haze ah [Em] ghille [D] marr
[G] Soon naw [D] shane ne [G] vore as- [Em] pheyne
O [G] cchuey a- [Em] gain maw [D] ghilleh [G] marr )
[Bm] Grief and pain are [Am] all I [G] know
[Em] My heart is [Bm] sore my [Am7] tears [D] a'flow
We [G] saw him [Bm] go an [Am7] buachaill [G] beo [the lively lad]
No [Am7] word we [G] know of [Em] him [D] och’in
Chorus
A proud young son of several year
A high born scion of gentle mean
A fiery blade engaged to me
He'd break the bravest in the field
Chorus
I’ll sing his praise as sweet harps play
And proudly toast his noble fame
Whose spirit and with mind aflame
So wish him strength and length of days
Chorus