Miss Molly St. George is
a maid without peer,
So handsome, so modest,
so graceful, so dear.
Though demure and retiring,
she yet far excels
The lasses of Omagh,
the damsels of Kells:
From lake-side Portumna
to Limerick sound
There’s no doubting maid Molly,
your like is not found!

I’m a sprite from the deluge,
afloat on the lake
A sprite that is banished
from mountain and brake
With nets on each side in
which thousands have strove
A net full of magic,
a net full of love.
How I wish that in either
imprisoned I’d been,
With a hope of release at
the hand of my queen!

My frends all keep saying
I’m foolish and wild,
That in loving maid Molly
My hopes are beguiled:
When I wish to persuade her
I tremble, I’m mute,
For her voice is far sweeter
Than viol or lute
Oh! Life is a burden and
Death hovers near,
If you tell me maid Molly,
You’ll not be my dear!

Written by Donal O’Sullivan.