your hills and dales and flowery vales

that lie near the Moorlough Shore

your vines that blow by borden's grove

will I ever see you more?

where the primrose blows

and the violet grows

where the trout and salmon play

with the line and hook, delight I took

to spend my youthful days


last night I went to see my love

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 that Irish lad

and he was my only joy

and ever since I saw his face

I've loved that soldier boy,"

perhaps your soldier boy was lost

while sailing 'cross the sea of Maine

or perhaps he is gone with some other lover

you may never see him again

she said:

"well if my Irish boy 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 sinclaire's castle grand

farewell to the foggy hill

where the linen waves like bleached silk

and the banching stream runs still

near there I spent my youthful days

but alas they are not now mine

for cruelty has banished me

far away from the Moorlough Shore