One day as I stood at the Bridge of Luckeen,
Above the bright water all glancin’ an’ green,
There strayed down the path from the top of the pass
Such a slim little, prim little, trim little lass.
“Oho!” then quoth I, and “aha!” murmured she,
With as pretty a curtsy as ever you‘ d see;
“Wo n't you pause?” I inquired; “I do n't mind,” said her mien,
So we looked, side by side, from the Bridge of Luckeen.
How the minutes flew by, an’ the stream how it flowed,
While never a soul came along by the road;
An’ I thought her eyes sweeter than Maeve ever knew,
An’ she deemed me far bolder than Brian Boru!
There‘ s a priest that ties knots, so the knowin’ ones say,
In a neat little church in the town of Glenbeigh;
If he‘ ll tie just one more, I‘ ll be thinkin’, I ween,
If there‘ s luck anywhere, there is luck at Luckeen!