| I hear a bird, a Londonderry bird |
| It well may be he’s bringing me a cheering word |
| I hear a breeze, a River Shanon breeze |
| It may well be it’s followed me across the seas, then tell me please |
| How are things in Glocca Morra? |
| Is that little brook still leaping there? |
| Does it still run down to Donny cove |
| Through Killybegs, Kilkerry and Kildare? |
| How are things in Glocca Morra? |
| Is that willow tree still weeping there? |
| Does that laddie with the twinkling eye |
| Come whistling by? And does she walk away |
| Sad and dreamy there, not to see me there? |
| So I ask each weeping willow |
| And each brook along the way |
| And each lad that comes a-whistling tooralay |
| How are things in Glocca Morra this fine day? |
| So I ask each weeping willow |
| And each brook along the way |
| And each lad that comes a-whistling tooralay |
| How are things in Glocca Morra this fine day? |