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 no 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.



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 an Irish lad,

and he was my only joy,

and ever since I saw his face

I've loved that soldier boy."



Well perhaps your soldier lad is lost

sailing over the sea of Maine.

Or perhaps he is gone with some other lover,

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 Sinclaire's castle grand.

Farewell to the foggy dew.

where the linen waves like bleaching silk

and the falling stream runs still

Near there I spent my youthful days

but alas they all are gone

for cruelty has banished me

far away from the Moorlough Shore.