| O MY Dark Rosaleen, | |
| Do not sigh, do not weep! | |
| The priests are on the ocean green, | |
| They march along the deep. | |
| There 's wine from the royal Pope, | 5 |
| Upon the ocean green; | |
| And Spanish ale shall give you hope, | |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | |
| My own Rosaleen! | |
| Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, | 10 |
| Shall give you health, and help, and hope, | |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | |
| |
| Over hills, and thro' dales, | |
| Have I roam'd for your sake; | |
| All yesterday I sail'd with sails | 15 |
| On river and on lake. | |
| The Erne, at its highest flood, | |
| I dash'd across unseen, | |
| For there was lightning in my blood, | |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | 20 |
| My own Rosaleen! | |
| O, there was lightning in my blood, | |
| Red lightning lighten'd thro' my blood. | |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | |
| |
| All day long, in unrest, | 25 |
| To and fro, do I move. | |
| The very soul within my breast | |
| Is wasted for you, love! | |
| The heart in my bosom faints | |
| To think of you, my Queen, | 30 |
| My life of life, my saint of saints, | |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | |
| My own Rosaleen! | |
| To hear your sweet and sad complaints, | |
| My life, my love, my saint of saints, | 35 |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | |
| |
| Woe and pain, pain and woe, | |
| Are my lot, night and noon, | |
| To see your bright face clouded so, | |
| Like to the mournful moon. | 40 |
| But yet will I rear your throne | |
| Again in golden sheen; | |
| 'Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone, | |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | |
| My own Rosaleen! | 45 |
| 'Tis you shall have the golden throne, | |
| 'Tis you shall reign, and reign alone, | |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | |
| |
| Over dews, over sands, | |
| Will I fly, for your weal: | 50 |
| Your holy delicate white hands | |
| Shall girdle me with steel. | |
| At home, in your emerald bowers, | |
| From morning's dawn till e'en, | |
| You'll pray for me, my flower of flowers, | 55 |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | |
| My fond Rosaleen! | |
| You'll think of me through daylight hours, | |
| My virgin flower, my flower of flowers, | |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | 60 |
| |
| I could scale the blue air, | |
| I could plough the high hills, | |
| O, I could kneel all night in prayer, | |
| To heal your many ills! | |
| And one beamy smile from you | 65 |
| Would float like light between | |
| My toils and me, my own, my true, | |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | |
| My fond Rosaleen! | |
| Would give me life and soul anew, | 70 |
| A second life, a soul anew, | |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | |
| |
| O, the Erne shall run red, | |
| With redundance of blood, | |
| The earth shall rock beneath our tread, | 75 |
| And flames wrap hill and wood, | |
| And gun-peal and slogan-cry | |
| Wake many a glen serene, | |
| Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die, | |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | 80 |
| My own Rosaleen! | |
| The Judgement Hour must first be nigh, | |
| Ere you can fade, ere you can die, | |
| My Dark Rosaleen! | |
