On Carrigdhoun the heath is brown,
The clouds are dark o'er Ardnalee,
And manys a stream comes rushing down,
To swell the angry Owen na Buidhe,
The moaning blast comes sweeping past,
Through manys s leafless tree,
But I'm alone, for he has gone,
My hawk has flown, ochone mo chroidhe.

The heath was green on Carrigdhoun,
Bright shone the sun o'er Ardnalee,
The dark green trees bent trembling down,
To kiss the slumbering Owen na Buidhe,
That happy day twas but last May,
Tis like a dream to me,
When Donal swore, aye o'er and o'er,
We'd part no more a stór mo chroidhe.

But April showers and bright May flowers,
Will bring the summer back again,
But will they bring me back the hours,
That I spent with my dear Donal then?
There's but a chance, he's gone to France,
To wear the Fleur-de-Lis,
But I'll follow you, oh, Donal Dhu,
For still I'm true to you mo chroidhe.