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