I stand here with empty hands
In your empty house, forgotton,
abandoned,
with war spears and chariots
no longer shining with use.
Ochón, ís ochón ó.
Return to me
from the arms of your goddess,
her arms of white sea foam
clasping your white shoulders.
Turn away from her red-gold hair,
that hair of flame and sunlight
touching your berry-red lips.
Ochón, ís ochón ó.
Will you return, my love,
with Fand's radience upon you still?
Will she shine in your eyes
and in your heart
when I lie in your arms?
Ochon, ochon, that I am no match for perfection.
Ochón, ís ochón ó.
Return soon,
for I have not your broad back
for the bearing of such burdens.
I have no sword- and shield-feats to prove my worth,
and as I am a woman of high birth,
I will not weep.
I bear no weapons and no defense.
Ochón, ís ochón ó.
My heart is ice within me,
My eyes are two dead stones,
My caoine is the caw of ravens,
My two hands are empty.
I have given all I treasure.
Ochón,
Ochón,
Ochón, ís ochón ó.