Drimin Dubh

Ah, Drimin dubh dilis ah pride of the flow,
Ah, where are your folks, are they living or no ?
They're down in the ground, 'neath the sod lying low,
Expecting King James with the crown on his brow.

But if I could get sight of the crown on his brow,
By night and day travelling to London I'd go ;
Over mountains of mist and soft mosses below,
Till I'd beat on the kettle-drums, Drimin Dubh O !

Welcome home, welcome home, Drimin Dubh O !
Good was your sweet milk for drinking, I trow ;
With your face like a rose, and your dew-lap of snow,
I'll part from you never, ah, Drimin Dubh O !