The Dark Girl of the Glen

O have you seen, or have you heard, the Darling of all Delight?
In glens of gloom, I wander lone, without rest in the day or night.
Her quiet eyes distress me, they trouble the heart in me —
My blessing go before her still, wherever on earth she be!

What songs have sung thy slender shape, the curve of thy graceful brow!
Thy small sweet mouth, that never, I think, could wound by deceiving vow,
Thy hand more bright and soft than silk, or down of the birds above —
I'm vexed and fretted whenever I think I'd part with the girl I love.

So sharp the pang, I faint, I flee, when her presence I do behold,
Her glowing cheek, her pearly teeth, her flowing tresses of gold,
More bright that sight than Deirdre's self who lowered King Conor's pride,
More fair than blue-eyed Blanaid, for whom thousands of heroes died.

O, Flower of Maids, forsake me not for glitter of worldly gain,
Unsung, unpraised, unprized it is, but by flattery's noisy train —
Whilst I would sing brave Irish songs, when harvest nights grow cold,
And tell the tale of Fianna chiefs and the warrior Kings of old!