I would I were on yonder hill,
'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill,
And every tear would turn a mill,
Is go dteidh tu, a mhurnin, slan !
Siubhail, siubhail, siubhail, a ruin !
Siubhail go socair, agus siubhail go ciuin,
Siubhail go d tian doras agus eulaigh liom,
Is go dteidh tu, a mhurnin, slan !
I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel,
I'll sell my only spinning-wheel,
To buy for my love a sword of steel,
I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red,
And round the world I'll beg my bread,
Until my parents shall wish me dead,
I wish, I wish, I wish in vain,
I wish I had my heart again,
And vainly think I'd not complain,
But now my love has gone to France,
To try his fortune to advance ;
If he e'er come back, 'tis but a chance,
