I sat within a valley green,
I sat there with my true love.
My heart strove to choose between
me old love and the new love.
Me old for her, the new that made
me think on Ireland dearly,
while soft the wind blew down the glade
and shook the golden barley.
'Twas hard the mournful words to frame
to break the ties that bound us,
but harder still to bear the shame
of foreign chains around us.
And so I said, 'The mountain glen
I'll seek next morning early
and join the brave United Men"
while soft wind shook the barley.
'Twas sad, I kissed away her tears,
her arms around me clinging
when to my ears that fateful shot
came out the wildwood ringing.
The bullet pierced my true love's breast,
in life's young spring so early,
and there upon my breast she died
while soft wind shook the barley.
I bore her to some mountain stream,
and many's summer blossom
I placed with branches soft and green
about her gore-stained bosom.
I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse
then rushed o'er vale and valley.
My vengeance on the foe to wreak
while soft wind shook the barley.
'Twas blood for blood without remorse,
I took at Oulart Hollow.
I placed my true love's clay-cold corpse
where mine full soon will follow.
Around her grave I wander drear
noon, night, and morning early,
with aching heart whene'er I hear
the wind that shakes the barley.