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.