Why do you lovely virgins mourn,
Like drooping lilies wet with dew?
And why around yon marble urn,
Spring’s choicest roses do they strew?
Alas! the sweetest rose is gone!
By Shannon's stream it fell;
The brightest star that ever shone.
Hath bid the sickly earth farewell.

Of Roderick's noble race was she,
The gentle maid we lov'd so much;
And fair she was as eye could see.
She boasted nature's finest touch;
And mild and comely was the youth 
For whom she fondly sigh'd;
Oh! timid love and heavenly truth 
Seem'd in this glowing pair allied.

But sad and fatal was the morn 
That e'er he join'd the martial throng;
Alas! from thence was no return,
And loud was heard the funeral song.
Her eye was fix'd in silent grief,
Nor long was sorrow's dream;
For death soon brought the wish'd relief,
And pluck'd the rose by Shannon's stream.