At the foot of Newry mountain clear water does flow.
There lives a wee lassie far whiter than snow.
She’s slender in the waist for all young men to see
And her name in plain Irish is Grá geal mo Chroí.

’Twas on a summer’s morning, as I walked along,
Down by yon green valley, I heard a fine song;
It was a fair damsel, and her voice rang most clear,
Saying “How blest would I be if my darling was here.”

I then drew anear to a shade that was green,
Where the leaves grew about her and she scarce could be seen;
And it was her whole cry, “O! my darling come away,
For without your loving company no longer can I stay.

That the moon it may darken and show us no light,
And the bright stars of heaven fall down from their height;
That the rock may all melt, and the mountains remove
The hour I prove false to the fair one I love.

If I were and empress and had the care of a crown,
And had all the money that’s for it laid down,
I would freely return it to the boy that I love,
And my mind I’d resign to the great God above.”

Like a sheet of white paper is her neck and her breast,
Her bright eyes a-shining have robbed me of the rest,
She’s a pattern of virtue wherever she goes,
And her cheeks I compare to the red blushing rose.

Oh, the ships on the ocean may go without sails,
And the smallest of fishes turn into great whales,
In the middle of the ocean there will grow an apple tree,
If e’er I prove false to my Grá geal mo chroí.