| Bonny, bonny was my seat in the red rosy yard
|
| And bonny was my ship in the town of Ballynagard
|
| Shade and shelter was for me till I began to fail
|
| You all may guess now my distress lies near the Nightingale
|
| Grief and woe that I must go to fight for England’s King
|
| I neither know his friend or foe, and war’s a cruel thing
|
| The nightingale is near at hand, my time at home is brief
|
| And Carey’s steams and mountain land I part with bitter grief
|
| No more I’ll walk the golden hills with Nancy by my side
|
| Or dream along the sun bright rills, or view my land with pride
|
| We sail away at dawn of day, the sails are ready set
|
| When old Benmore I see no more, I’ll sigh with deep regret
|
| Now all must change and I must range across the ocean wide
|
| Our ship she may in Biscay’s Bay lie low beneath the tide
|
| If I should fall by cannon ball, or sink beneath the sea
|
| Good people all, a tear let fall and mourn for mine and me If God should spare me my greying hair and bring me back again
|
| I’d love far more my Antrim shore, its dark blue hills and rain
|
| Around the fires, my heart’s desires, heaven grant till life shall fail
|
| And keep me far from the cruel war and from the Nightingale |