| lyric | On the deck of Patrick Lynch's boat
I sit in wo'ful plight
Thro’ my sighing all the weary day
And weeping all the night;
Were it not that full of sorrow from
My people forth I go
By the blessed sun ’tis royally
I’d sing thy praise Mayo.
When I dwelt at home in plenty
And my gold did much abound,
In the company of fair young maids
The Spanish ale went round.
’Tis a bitter change from those gay days
That now I’m forced to go,
And must leave my bones in Santa Cruz
Far from my own Mayo.
They are altered girls in Irrul now;
’Tis proud they’ve grown and high,
With their hair-bags and their top-knots,
For I pass their buckles by;
But it’s little now I heed their airs
For God will have it so,
That I must depart for foreign lands,
And leave my sweet Mayo.
’Tis my grief that Patrick Loughlin
Is not Earl in Irrul still,
And that Brian Duff no longer rules
As lord upon th hill;
And that Colonel Hugh O’Grady
Should be lying dead and low,
And I sailing, sailing swiftly
From the County of MAyo. |