An Buachaillín Donn
My true love he dwells on the mountain
Like a war eagle fearless and free;
By the side of a low tuning fountain
That wanders through wild Annalae.
His soul has more valour and honour
Than a king with his palace and crown;
For the blood of the race of O’Connor
Fills the veins of my Buachaillín Donn.
Soft ‘Céad Míle Fáilte’I’ll give him
Every Sunday when he comes to me;
And sure what can I do but believe him
When he whispers A Cuisle Mo Chroí.
For his look is so truthful and tender
From his bright roving eyes of dark brown;
That I’m sure any lady of splendour
Could be coaxed by my Buachaillín Donn.
My father has riches in plenty
And suitors for me in his eye;
Ah but let my age come to twenty
And it’s I’ll give them all the good bye.
I long for a home on the mountain
Far away from the dust of the town;
With the music of a low tuning fountain
And the love of my Buachaillín Donn.
