| Attention pay, my countrymen, and hear my native news
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| Although my song is sorrowful, I hope you’ll me excuse
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| I left my peaceful residence a foreign land to see
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| And I bid farewell to Donegal, likewise to Glenswilly
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| Some stalwart men around me stood, each comrade loyal and true
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| And as I grasped each well-known hand to bid a last adieu
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| I said, My fellow countrymen, I hope you’ll soon be free
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| To raise the flag more proudly oer the hills of Glenswilly
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| It is these cruel English laws, they curse our native isle
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| Must Irishmen always live like slaves or else die in exile?
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| There’s not a man to strike a blow or to keep down tyranny
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| Since Lord Leitrim like a dog was shot not far from Glenswilly
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| No more beside the sycamore I’ll hear the blackbird sing
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| No more to meet the blithe cuckoo to welcome back the spring
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| No more I’ll plow your fertile fields, a chuisle geal mo chroIdhe
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| On foreign soil I’m doomed to toil far, far from Glenswilly
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| God bless you, dark old Donegal, my own dear native land
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| In dreams I’ve often seen your hills and your towering mountains grand
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| But the last three thousand miles of life separates these hills from me
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| I’m a poor forlorn exile cast far, far from Glenswilly
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| I’m a poor forlorn exile cast far, far from Glenswilly |