Текст песни
Farewell to you, old Ireland, since I must go away!
I now shake hands and bid goodbye, and can no longer stay
Our big ship lies in deep Loch Foyle, bound for the New York shore
And I must go from all I know, and lovely Mourne to more
That little town encircled round with many is the Grogan Hill
Where lads and lasses they do meet, for pleasure there's the bill
Through Springhill Braes and flowery
Fields where oft I've wandered, oh!
And by my side was the girl I loved, the rose of Mourne
How lonely is the pigeon's coo, and sad the blackbird's lay
And loud and high the thrush's cry on a long, bright summer's day!
And as I sat down to cry me fill, the tears come trickling down
For in the morning I must leave you, my own dear native town
Kind friends, I'll bid you all goodbye, I can no longer stay
Our big ship sails tomorrow, and it's time I was away
So fill your glasses to the brim, and toast with one loud roar
And we'll sing in praise of Springhill Braes and lovely Mourne