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| THERE’S a colleen fair as May, | |
| For a year and for a day, | |
| I’ve sought by every way her heart to gain | |
| There’s no art of tongue or eye | |
| Fond youths with maidens try, | 5 |
| But I’ve tried with ceaseless sigh, yet tried in vain. | |
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| If to France or far-off Spain | |
| She’d cross the watery main, | |
| To see her face again the sea I’d brave. | |
| And if ’tis Heaven’s decree | 10 |
| That mine she may not be, | |
| May the Son of Mary me in mercy save! | |
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| O thou blooming milk-white dove, | |
| To whom I’ve given true love, | |
| Do not ever thus reprove my constancy. | 15 |
| There are maidens would be mine, | |
| With wealth in hand and kine, | |
| If my heart would but incline to turn from thee. | |
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| But a kiss with welcome bland, | |
| And a touch of thy dear hand | 20 |
| Are all that I demand, wouldst thou not spurn; | |
| For if not mine, dear girl, | |
| O Snowy-Breasted Pearl! | |
| May I never from the fair with life return! | |
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