| When two lovers meet down beside the green bower
|
| When two lovers meet down beneath the green tree
|
| When Mary, fond Mary, declared to her lover
|
| «You have stolen my poor heart from the Banks of the Lee»
|
| I loved her very dearly, so true and sincerely
|
| There was no one in this wide world I loved better than she
|
| Every bush, every bower, every sweet Irish flower
|
| Reminds me of my Mary, on the banks of the Lee
|
| «Don't stay out late, love, on the moorlands, my Mary
|
| Don’t stay out late, love, on the moorlands from me»
|
| How little was our notion when we parted on the ocean
|
| That we were forever parted from the Banks of the Lee
|
| I will pluck her some roses, some blooming Irish roses
|
| I will pluck her some roses, the fairest that ever grew
|
| And I’ll leave them on the grave of my own true lovely Mary
|
| In that cold and silent churchyard where she sleeps ‘neath the dew |