“She's the darlin’ of the parish, she's the pride of Inniskillen;
‘ Twould make your heart lep up to see her trippin’ down the glen;
There's not a lad of life and fame that would n't take her shillin’
And inlist inside her service-did ye hear her laughin’ then?
Did ye see her with her hand in mine the day that Clancy married?
Ah, darlin’, how we footed it-the grass it was so green!
And when the neighbours wandered home, I was the guest that tarried,
An hour plucked from Paradise — come back to me, Rosleen!
Across the seas, beyand the hills, by lovely Inniskillen,
The rigiment come marchin’ — I hear the call once more
Shure, a woman's but a woman — so I took the Sergeant's shillin’,
For the pride o’ me was hurted — shall I never see her more?
She turned her face away from me, and black as night the land became;
Her eyes were jewels of the sky, the finest iver seen;
She left me for another lad, he was a lad of life and fame,
And the heart of me was hurted — but there's none that's like Rosleen!”