When I was a maiden fair and young,
On the pleasant banks of the Lee,
No bird that in the green wood sung,
Was half so blithe and free,
My heart near beat with flying feet,
No love sang me her queen,
Till down the glen rode Sarsfield's men,
And they wore the jackets green.

No hoarded wealth did my love own,
Save the gold sword that he bore,
But I loved him for his self alone,
And the colours bright he wore,
For had he come in England's red,
To make me England's queen,
I'd rove the high green hills instead,
For the sake of Irish green.

When Sarsfield sailed away I wept,
I heard the wild ochone,
I felt then dead like the men who slept,
Neath the fields of Garryowen,
While Ireland held my Donal blessed,
No wild sea rolled between,
Till I would fold him to my breast,
All robed in Irish green.

I saw the Shannon's purple tide,
Roll by the Irish town,
As I stood in the breach by Donal's side,
When England's flag went down,
And now it glows as it seeks the skies,
Like a blood-red curse between,
I weep, but tis not the women's sighs,
Will raise the Irish green.

Oh Ireland, sad thy lonely soul,
And loud beats the winter seas,
But sad and high the wild waves roll,
From hearts that break for thee,
Yet grief shall come to our heartless foes,
Their thrones in the dust be seen,
But Irish maids love none but those,
Who wear the jackets green.