The Boatman (fhír A Bhata)

The Boatman (fhír A Bhata)
How often haunting the highest hilltop
i scan the ocean, a sail to see
will it come tonight, love, will it come tomorrow
or ever come, love, to comfort me
Chorus "the boatman" in gaelic:
o fare thee well, love, where'er thou be
They call thee fickle, they call thee false one
and seek to change me but all in vain
thou art my dream yet throughout the dark night
and every moment i watch the main
There's not a hamlet, too well i know it,
where you go wandering or stay awhile
but all it's old folk you win with talking
and charm its maidens with song and smile
Doth thou remember the promise made me,
a token plead, a silken gown
that ring of gold with your hair and portrait
that gown and ring i will never own