‘ TIS PRETTY TAE BE IN BAILE-LIOSAN

‘ Tis pretty tae be in Baile-liosan, ‘ Tis pretty tae be in green Magh-luan; ‘ Tis prettier tae be in Newtownbreda, Beeking under the eaves in June.

The cummers are out wi’ their knitting and spinning, The thrush sings frae his crib on the wa’, And o'er the white road the clachan caddies Play at their marlies and goaling-ba’.

O, fair are the fields o’ Baile-liosan, And fair are the faes o’ green Magh-luan; But fairer the flowers o’ Newtownbreda, Wet wi’ dew in the eves o’ June.

‘ Tis pleasant tae saunter the clachan thoro’ When day sinks mellow o'er Dubhais hill, And feel their fragrance sae softly breathing Frae croft and causey and window-sill.

O, brave are the haughs o’ Baile-liosan, And brave are the halds o’ green Magh-luan; But braver the hames o’ Newtownbreda, Twined about wi’ the pinks o’ June.

And just as the face is sae kindly withouten, The heart within is as guid as gold — Wi’ new fair ballants and merry music, And cracks cam’ down frae the days of old.

‘ Tis pretty tae be in Baile-liosan, ‘ Tis pretty tae be in green Magh-luan; ‘ Tis prettier tae be in Newtownbreda, Beeking under the eaves in June.

The cummers are out wi’ their knitting and spinning, The thrush sings frae his crib on the wa’, And o'er the white road the clachan caddies Play at their marlies and goaling-ba’.