Ye hills and dales and flowery vales
That lie near the Moorlough Shore.
Ye winds that blow by Borden’s grove.
Will I ever hear you more
Where the primrose grows
And the violet blows.
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.
Perhaps your soldier lad is lost
Sailing over the sea of Maine.
Or perhaps he is gone with some other lover,
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 are all gone
For cruelty has banished me
Far away from the Moorlough Shore.


