Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side,
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling,
It's you, it's you must go, and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow,
It's I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow,
Oh, Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy, I love you so!
But when ye come, and all the flow'rs are dying,
If I am dead, as dead I well may be,
Ye'll come and find the place where I am lying,
And kneel and say an Ave there for me;
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,
And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,
For you will bend and tell me that you love me,
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!
About the headline (FAQ)
See also Maidin i mBéarra, which can be sung to the same tune as the Londonderry Air.
Text Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- IRI Irish (Gaelic) [singable] (Gabriel Rosenstock) , "Dónall Óg", copyright © 2021, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Danny Boy", copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Robert Grady
This text was added to the website: 2004-06-13
Line count: 16
Word count: 152
A Dhónail Óig, tá an phíb ag glaoch ó mhaidin
ó ghleann go gleann is síos fá thaobh an tslé'
tá an samhradh thart is tá na blátha seargtha
ní mór duit imeacht, fanfadsa liom féin.
Ach tar ar ais is samhradh ar fud na móinéar
nó nuair is bán faoi shneachta a bheidh an gleann
beidh mise romhat más geal nó duairc í Éire
A Dhónaill Óig, a Dhónail Óig is tú mo ghreann.
Is ar do theacht, má bhíonn na blátha feoite
Is mise, a stór, san uaigh ag déanamh cré
An dtiocfaidh tú chun labhairt lem' chroí breoite
Is ar do ghlúin' an ndéarfá an tÁivé
Is cloisfeadsa do choiscéim ar an ngaineamh
ní bheidh an uaigh chomh préachta is a bhí
crom síos, a ghrá, is abair ' 'S tú mo thaitneamh!'
codlód go sámh, a ghrá, ansin go síoraí.
