Dearthairin O Mo Chroi - Pauline Scanlon

I am a young fellow who has always loved rural sport

The fairs and the patterns of Erin I used to resort,

The true sons of Bacchus were always in my company,

Till I was deprived of my deartháirín ó mo chroí.

When we were children we did each other adore,

This lovely green island we wandered it o’er and o’er,

My brother was taken and sent o’er the dark rolling sea,

And I am left lonely for deartháirín ó mo chroí.

The womb’s turned to earth that gave birth to my brother and me,

My father and mother have gone to eternity,

We worked at our trade and our money we spent it quite free,

Which makes me lament for my deartháirín ó mo chroí.

In Dublin’s fair city my brother he was pressed away

On board of a warship to Spain o’er the wild rolling sea.

Where cannons roar loudly and bullets like lightening do fly,

Perhaps in some battle my deartháirín ó might die.

If heaven would aid me and send me to Spain where he be,

My life I would venture to set him at liberty,

Like a true loyal brother I would fight for him manfully,

Or I’d die in the arms of my deartháirín ó mo chroí.

But now I’m alone like the desolate bird of the night,

The world and it’s beauties no longer afford me delight,

The dark narrow grave is the only sad refuge for me,

Since I lost my heart’s treasure my deartháirín ó mo chroí.