By the sweet bay of Dublin, while carelessly strolling

I sat myself down by a green myrtle shade

Reclined on the beach, as the wild waves were rolling

In sorrowful condoling, I saw a fair maid



Her robes changed to mourning, that once were so glorious

I stood in amazement to hear her sad wail

Her heartstrings burst forth with wild accents uproarious

Saying, "Where, where is my Blackbird of sweet Avondale?"



"In the fair counties Meath, Wexford, Cork, and Tipperary,

The rights of Old Ireland, my Blackbird did sing

Ah, but woe to the hour, with heart light and airy

Away from my arms, to Dublin took wing"



"The fowlers waylaid him in hopes to ensnare him

While I here in sorrow, his absence bewail

Oh, it grieves me to think that the walls of Kilmainham

Surround my dear Blackbird of sweet Avondale"



"Oh, Ireland, my country, awake from your slumbers

And give back my Blackbird, so dear unto me

And let everyone know, by the strength of your numbers

That we, as a nation, would wish to be free"



"The cold prison dungeons is no habitation

For one, to his country, was loyal and true

Then give him his freedom, without hesitation

And remember he fought hard for freedom and you"



"Oh, Heaven, give ear to my consultation

And strengthen the bold sons of Old Granuaile

And God grant that my country will soon be a nation

And bring back the Blackbird to sweet Avondale"