Attention pay, my country men and hear my native news
Although my song is sorrowful I hope you'll me excuse
I left my peaceful residence, a foreign land to see
And I bid farewell to Donegal, likewise to Glenswilly
Some stalwart men around me stood, each comrade kind and true
And as I grasped each well known hand to bid a last adue
I said, "my fellow countrymen, I hope you'll soon be free
To raise the sunburst proudly o'er the hills of Glenswilly"
No more beside a sycamore I'll hear the blackbird sing
No more to me the blithe cuckoo shall welcome back the spring
No more I'll plough your fertile fields, a chuisle geal mo chroídhe
For the foreign soil I'm doomed to toil, far far from Glenswilly
It is these cruel English laws that curse our native isle
Must Irish men always live like slaves or else die in exile?
There's not a man to strike a blow or keep down tyranny
Since Lord Leitrim like a dog was shot, not far from Glenswilly
God bless ye, dark ol' Donegal, my own dear native land
In dreams I oft-times see your hills and towering mountains grand
But alas, three thousand miles that lie betwixt these hills and me
I'm a poor, forlorn exile cast far far from Glenswilly
Although my song is sorrowful I hope you'll me excuse
I left my peaceful residence, a foreign land to see
And I bid farewell to Donegal, likewise to Glenswilly
Some stalwart men around me stood, each comrade kind and true
And as I grasped each well known hand to bid a last adue
I said, "my fellow countrymen, I hope you'll soon be free
To raise the sunburst proudly o'er the hills of Glenswilly"
No more beside a sycamore I'll hear the blackbird sing
No more to me the blithe cuckoo shall welcome back the spring
No more I'll plough your fertile fields, a chuisle geal mo chroídhe
For the foreign soil I'm doomed to toil, far far from Glenswilly
It is these cruel English laws that curse our native isle
Must Irish men always live like slaves or else die in exile?
There's not a man to strike a blow or keep down tyranny
Since Lord Leitrim like a dog was shot, not far from Glenswilly
God bless ye, dark ol' Donegal, my own dear native land
In dreams I oft-times see your hills and towering mountains grand
But alas, three thousand miles that lie betwixt these hills and me
I'm a poor, forlorn exile cast far far from Glenswilly
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