| I sat within a valley green
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| I sat there with my true love
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| My heart strove to choose between
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| The old love and the new love
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| The old for her, the new that made
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| Me think on Ireland dearly
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| While soft the wind blew down the glade
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| And shook the golden barley
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| 'Twas hard the woeful words to frame
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| To break the ties that bound us
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| But harder still to bear the shame
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| Of foreign chains around us
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| And so I said, «The mountain glen
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| I’ll seek at morning early
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| And join the brave United Men
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| While soft winds shook the barley»
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| 'Twas sad I kissed away her tears
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| Her arms around me clinging
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| When to my ears the fateful shot
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| Came out the wildwood ringing
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| The bullet pierced my true love’s breast
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| In life’s young spring so early
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| And all upon my breast she died
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| While soft winds shook the barley
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| I bore her to some mountain stream
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| And many’s the summer blossom
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| I placed with branches soft and green
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| About her gore-stained bosom
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| I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse
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| Then rushed o’er vale and valley
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| My vengeance on the foe to wreak
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| While soft winds shook the barley
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| 'Twas blood for blood without remorse
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| I took at Oulart Hollow
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| I placed my true love’s clay-cold corpse
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| Where I full soon may follow
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| Around her grave I wandered drear
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| Noon, night and morning early
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| With aching heart when e’er I hear
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| The wind that shakes the barley |