Abroad as I was walking
Down by the river side,
I gazed all around me,
An Inish girl I spied;
So red and rosy were her cheeks,
And red-gold was her hair,
And costly were the robes of gold
My Inish girl did wear.
Her shoes were of the Castillian black,
All spangled round with dew,
She wrung her hands, and tore her hair,
Crying 'Love! what shall I do?
I'm going home, I'm going home,
I'm going home,' said she,
'Why will you go a-roving,
and slight your dear Pollie?'
The very last time I saw my love
She seemed to lie in pain,
With sorrow, grief and anguish
Her heart was broke in twain:
'Oh! there's many a man that's worse than he,
Then why should I complain?
Oh! love is such a killing thing!
Did you ever feel the pain?'
I wish my love was a red rose,
And in the garden grew,
And I to be the gardener;
To her I would be true.
There's not a month throughout the year,
But love I would renew:
With lilies I would garnish her,
Sweet William, thyme, and rue.
I wish I was a butterfly,
I'd fly to my love's breast;
I wish I was a linnet,
I'd sing my love to rest;
I wish I was a nightingale,
I'd sing till morning clear,
I'd sit and sing to you, Pollie,
The girl I love so dear.
I wish I was at Carleon,
Seated on the Promenade's grass,
With a bottle of whiskey in my hand,
And on my knee a lass.
I'd drink liquor merrily,
And steal a kiss before I go;
I'd hold her in my arms once more,
Let the wind blow high or low...
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