Mo Cailin Donn

The blush is on the flower, and the bloom is on the tree,
And the bonnie, bonnie sweet birds are carolling their glee ;
And the dews upon the grass are made diamonds by the sun,
All to deck a path of glory for my own Cailin Donn !
O fair she is ! O rare she is ! O dearer still to me !
More welcome than the green leaf to winter-stricken tree,
More welcome than the blossom to the weary, dusty bee,
Is the coming of my true love — my own Cailin Donn !
O Sycamore ! O Sycamore ! wave, wave your banners green —
Let all your pennons flutter, O Beech ! before my queen !
Ye fleet and honied breezes, to kiss her hand ye run ;
But my heart has passed before ye to my own Cailin Donn !
O fair she is ! etc.

Ring out, ring out, O Linden ! your merry leafy bells !
Unveil your brilliant torches, O Chestnut ! to the dells ;
Strew, strew the glade with splendour, for morn it cometh on !
O the morn of all delight to me — my own Cailin Donn !
O fair she is ! etc.
She is coming, where we parted, where she wanders every day;
There's a gay surprise before her who thinks me far away !
O like hearing bugles triumph when the fight of Freedom's won,
Is the joy around your footsteps, my own Cailin Donn !
O fair she is ! O rare she is ! O dearer still to me !
More welcome than the green leaf to winter-stricken tree,
More welcome than the blossom to the weary, dusty bee,
Is your coming, O my true love — my own Cailin Donn !