Three Irish Folksongs

His hair was black, his eye was blue,
His arm was stout, his word was true.
I wish in my heart I was with you,
Go thee, thu Mavourneen slaun!

     Shule, shule, shule agra!
     Only death can ease my woe,
     Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
     Go thee, thu Mavourneen slaun!

I sold my rock, I sold my reel,
When my flax was spun, I sold my wheel,
To buy my love a sword of steel,
Go thee, thu Mavourneen slaun!

     Shule, shule, shule agra!
     Only death can ease my woe,
     Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
     Go thee, thu Mavourneen slaun!

I’ll dye my petticoat, I’ll dye it red,
And round the world I’ll beg my bread,
Till I find my love alive or dead.
Go thee, thu Mavourneen slaun!

     Shule, shule, shule agra!
     Only death can ease my woe,
     Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
     Go thee, thu Mavourneen slaun!

King James was routed in the fray;
The “wild-geese” went with him away,
My boy went too, that dreary day.
Go thee, thu Mavourneen slaun!

     Shule, shule, shule agra!
     Only death can ease my woe,
     Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
     Go thee, thu Mavourneen slaun!

It was on a fine summer morning,
The birds sweetly tun’d on each bough,
And as I walk’d out for my pleasure
I saw a maid milking her cow;
Her voice so enchanting, melodious,
Left me quite unable to go,
My heart it was loaded with sorrow
For Colleen dhas cruthen namoe.

Then to her I made my advances;
“Good morrow, most beautiful maid,
Your beauty my heart so entrances!”
“Pray sir, do not banter,” she said;
“I’m not such a rare precious jewel,
That I should enamour you so,
I am but a poor little milk-girl,”
Says Colleen dhas cruthen namoe.

The Indies afford no such jewels,
So bright and transparently clear;
Ah! do not add flame to my fuel!
Consent by to love me, my dear.
Ah! had I the lamp of Aladdin,
Or the wealth of the African shore,
I would rather be poor in a cottage
With Colleen dhas cruthen namoe.

Quick! we have but a second, 
Fill round the cup while you may; 
For time, the churl, hath beckon'd, 
And we must away, away! 
Grasp the pleasure that's flying, 
For oh, not Orpheus' strain 
Could keep sweet hours from dying, 
Or charm them to life again. 
Then, quick! we have but a second, 
Fill round the cup while you may! 
For Time, the churl hath beckon'd, 
And we must away, away. 

See the glass, how it flushes, 
Like some young Hebe's lip, 
And half meets thine, and blushes 
That thou shouldst delay to sip. 
Shame, oh shame unto thee, 
If ever thou see'st that day, 
When a cup or lip shall woo thee, 
And turn untouch'd away! 
Then, quick! we have but a second, 
Fill round, fill round while you may, 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, 
And we must away, away!