I am a wand'ring minstrel man,   And Love my only theme,   I've stray'd beside the pleasant Bann,   And eke the Shannon's stream;   I've pip'd and play'd to wife and maid   By Barrow, Suir, and Nore,   But never met a maiden yet   Like Brighidin Ban Mo Store.      My girl hath ringlets rich and rare,   By Nature's fingers wove -   Loch-Carra's swan is not so fair   As her breast of love;   And when she moves, in Sunday sheen,   Beyond our cottage door,   I'd scorn the high-born Saxon queen   For Brighidin Ban Mo Store.      It is not that thy smile is sweet,   And soft thy voice of song -   It is not that thou fleest to meet   My comings lone and long;   But that doth rest beneath thy breast,   A heart of purest core,   Whose pulse is known to me alone,   My Brighidin Ban Mo Store!