|THE MOORLOUGH SHORE|
Your hills and dales and flowery vales, that lie near the Moorlough Shore,
Your vines that blow by Bordons Grove, will I ever see you 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 loved an Irish lad and he was my only joy,
And ever since I saw his face, I've loved that soldier boy.'
'Perhaps your soldier lad is lost, sailing over the sea of main
Or perhaps he's gone with some other one, 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 Moorlough Shore.'
Farewell to Sinclair's Castle ground, farewell to the foggy hill
Where the linen webs lie bleaching silk and the bawdeen stream runs still
Near there I spent my youthful days, but alas they are no more,
For cruelty has banished me, far away from the Moorlough Shore.