Lovely Anne, oh! lovely Anne!
Oh hearken to my bitter cry!
Alone on rugged Slievenaman,
For your fond sake I lie;
For you I've fled my friends, fled my clam,
Fair Saxon, have you turned untrue?
And has my lovely Amme, my lovely Anne,
But brought me here to rue?

Lovely Anne, oh, lovely Anne,
Since darkly here I laid me down,
How oft the wind-swept cannavan,
Has seem'd your fluttering gown,
And once a maid, with bright milking can,
Brush'd hitherward across the dew,
"'Tis she, my lovely Anne, my lovely Anne!"
She turned and frown'd me through.

Lovely Anne, oh, lovely Anne,
Cold morn is mounting o'er the height,
And your forsaken Irishman
Afar must take his flight.
Heaven's curse upon the black, heartless ban,
That sunders thus the fond and true.
Adieu, my lovely Anne, my lovely Anne,
For evermore, Adieu!