That lie near the Moorlough Shore.
Your vines that blow by borden’s grove.
Will I ever see no more
And the violet grows,
Where the trout and salmon play.
To spend my youthful days.
And to hear what she might say.
To see if she’d take pity on me,
Lest I might go away.
She said, “I love an Irish lad,
And he was my only joy,
And ever since I saw his face
I’ve loved that soldier boy.”
Sailing over the sea of Maine.
Or perhaps he is gone with some other lover,
You may never see him again.
Well if my Irish lad is lost,
He’s the one I do adore,
And seven years I will wait for him
By the banks of the Moorlough Shore.
Farewell to the foggy dew.
Where the linen waves like bleaching silk
And the falling stream runs still
Near there I spent my youthful days
But alas they all are gone
For cruelty has banished me
Far away from the Moorlough Shore.