Attention pay, my countrymen, and hear my native news,
Although my song is sorrowful, I hope you'll me excuse,
I left my peaceful residence a foreign land to see,
And I bid farewell to Donegal, likewise to Glenswilly.

Brave stalwart men around me stood, each comrade loyal and true,
And as I grasped each well-known hand to bid my last adieu,
I said, "My native countrymen, I hope you'll soon be free,
To raise the green flag proudly o'er the hills of Glenswilly."

It is these cruel English laws, they curse our native isle,
Must Irishmen always live like slaves or else die in exile?
There's not a man to strike a blow or to keep down tyranny,
Since Lord Leitrim like a dog was shot not far from Glenswilly.

No more beside the sycamore I'll hear the blackbird sing,
No more to meet the blithe cuckoo to welcome back the spring,
No more I'll plow your fertile fields, a chuisle geal mo chroí,
On a foreign soil I'm doomed to toil far, far from Glenswilly.

God bless you, dark old Donegal, my own dear native land,
In dreams I've often seen your hills, your towering mountains grand,
But alas, three thousand miles now lie between these hills and me,
I'm a poor forlorn exile cast far, far from Glenswilly,
I'm a poor forlorn exile cast far, far from Glenswilly.