Maureen Bhan

I sit all day and weep,
A poor forlorn man ;
A-crying till my heart is broke,
For Maureen Bhan !

Across the ocean blue
I look with longing eyes,
And see in dreams dear Ireland's streams,
And Ireland's sunny skies.
I see her too, who holds
In thrall the singing man —
Ill luck is mine, I weep and pine
For Maureen Bhan !

The dames of Galway's halls
Have stately step and mien,
With jewels rare— but my girl fair
Is beauty's wondrous queen !
She's comely as the dawn,-
And I'm her singing man —
Ill luck is mine, I weep and pine
For Maureen Bhan !
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Were I a mighty king,
Or knowledge-man ; my dear
Should wear a crown, despite the frown
Of envy, slight, and fear.
She shall yet wear royal wreaths !

Crowned by the singing man —
Ill luck is mine, I weep and pine
For Maureen Bhan !

I sit all day and weep,
A poor forlorn man ;
A-crying till my heart is broke,
For Maureen Bhan !