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

Twas on a summer's morning, by the dawning of the day,
I left my peaceful, happy home to wander far away,
And as I viewed that grand old glen, perhaps no more to see,
I thought my poor old heart would break, when leaving Glenswilly.

Brave stalwart men around me stood, my comrades kind and true,
And as I grasped each well-known hand to bid a last adieu,
I said, "My gallant countrymen, I hope you'll soon be free,
To see the sunburst proudly wave o'er the hills of Glenswilly."

No more among the sycamore, I'll hear the blackbird sing,
No more I'll hear the blithe cuckoo who welcomes back the spring,
No more I'll plough your fertile fields, a chuisle geal mo chroí,
On 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 see your heather glens and towering mountains grand,
Alas, three thousand miles do lie between your hills and me,
A poor, forlorn exile cast far, far from Glenswilly.