Oh! linnet gay, so bright and free,
I love thee well; thy songs alway
Are cherished in the heart of me
Oh! linnet gay.

Yet now I ask thee to depart,
And to yon distant valley wing;
There dwells the bouchaill of my heart.
To Brian sing.

The sweetest songs thou e’er hast sung,
And sing them in thy grandest style;
He’s toiling now the fields among
Go, cheer his toil.

Sing to him of a girl who sits
Within a cottage poor but trim,
That while her father’s socks she knits,
She thinks of him.

Oh! balmy wind, so cool and sweet,
Hoard up thy balm till thou dost find
My Brian toiling in the heat
Oh! balmy wind.

Then clasp him in a kind embrace,
And wipe the toil damp off his brow,
And kiss him on his handsome face
Would I wert thou.

My grief, to think that he must toil
Alone, the live-long day so hard,
With none to cheer with loving smile,
Or pleasant word.

O, feathered birds of field and grove!
Sing, each of you, your sweetest song;
To keep my hearts desire, my love,
From thinking long.

O, Sun! with diadems adorn
The dew-wet grass, the dew-wet flowers.
Shake from your blossomed boughs, O, thorn!
Shake snow-white show’rs.

O, Woodbine! spill your scents so sweet
O, Wind! make harps of all the trees;
And when she’s nigh let all compete –
Her heart to please.

O, Dawning’s fair! O sunset skies!
In your magnificence show forth,
To match the glory of her eyes –
Unmatched on earth.

O, Nature! make these paths we rove,
These fields so fair, more lovely yet;
That she may love the scenes I love,
And ne’er forget.

Enshrine these beauties in her heart,
Embalm them in her memory –
So that she’ll never wish to part
From them, from me,

O! wind, croon low, and softly play
Upon these sallies slender;
And wake a weeping dirge to-day
Pathetic, sweet and tender,
For brown-haired Maire Og, whose voice
Is music’s sweetest tone,
Loved Maire, who has all my heart,
Will never be my own.

O! sun, put on a misty veil –
Your brightness minds me of her;
Grow dark, blue skies (blue are her eyes)
Ye pain her hapless lover
O! stream, that blithely sang to me
In days of long ago,
A barefoot boy I shared thy joy-
Now share with me my woe.

Be still, O! thrush; O! skylark, hush,
Sing not to-day O! robin;
Ye mind me of her heav’nly voice
Ye set my spirit sobbin’.
O! earth, O! sky, O! everything,
All, all I hear and see –
Ye waken thoughts (I wish they’d sleep)
Sad, bitter thoughts in me.