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. Where the trout and salmon play. With 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 love that 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 Maine. Or perhaps he is gone with some other lover, 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 the Moorlough Shore. 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.