In the fair bay of Dublin, while carelessly strolling,
I sat myself down near a clear, crystal stream,
Reclined on the beach, in wild accents deploring,
In sorrow condoling, I heard a fair maid.

Her hopes changed to mourning, that once were so glorious,
I stood in amazement to hear her sad tale,
Her heartstrings were torn in wild accents so glorious,
Saying, "Where is my blackbird of sweet Avondale?"

"In the fair counties Kerry, true Cork and Tipperary,
The rights of old Ireland, my blackbird did sing,
But woe to the hour, with the dark lights in Derry,
When he from my arms to Dublin took way."

"Oh heaven, give ear to my supplication,
And strengthen the bold sons of old Graínne Mhaol,
And promise that my country will soon be a nation,
And bring back my blackbird of sweet Avondale."

"Oh, Erin, my country, awake from your slumbers,
And bring back my blackbird, so dear unto me,
And let everyone know, by the strength of your numbers,
That we, as a nation, would like to be free.".