On Carrigdhoun the heath is brown,
The clouds are dark o’er Ardnalee,
And many a stream comes rushing down
To swell the angry Ownabwee ;
The moaing blast is sweeping fast
Through many a leafless tree,
And I’m alone, for he is gone,
My hawk has flown, ochone, machree!
The heath was green on Carrigdhoun,
Bright shone the sun on Ardnalee,
The dark green trees bent trembling down
To kiss the slumbering Ownabwee;
That happy day, ’twas but last May,
‘Tis like a dream to me,
When Donnell swore, ay, o’er and o’er,
We’d part no more, astor machree!
Soft April showers and bright May flowers
Will bring the summer back again,
But will they bring me back the hours
I spent with my brave Donnell then?
‘Tis but a chance, for he’s gone to France,
To wear the fleur-de-lys;
But I’ll follow you my Donnell Dhu,
For still I’m true to you, machree.
Lament of the Irish Maiden by Denny Lane.