Your hills and dales and flowery vales
that lie near the Moorlough Shore.
Your winds that blow by bog and grove.
Shall I ever see you more?
Where the primrose blows and the violet grows.
where the trout and salmon play,
with my line and hook delight I took
to spend my youthful days.

As I went out to see my love,
to hear what she would say.
To see if she'd take pity on me
before I'd go away.
She said: "I loved an Irish lad
and he was my only joy,
and ever since I saw his face
I loved that soldier boy."

“Perhaps your soldier lad is lost
sailing over the raging main.
Or perhaps he is gone with some other girl,
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 Sinclair's Castle grand.
Farewell to the Hollyhill.
where the linen webs lie bleaching white
and the purling stream runs still
Near there I spent my youthful days
but alas they are now o'er.
For cruelty has banished me
far away from the Moorlough Shore.