If I was at home in Lackamore my pen I’d take and write,
The thought lie in my bosom in Mary I take delight.
It was in her father’s garden to manhood’s power I grew,
When first I came to court that Dame, called Mary from Murroe.
The evening of a funeral at the cross below the forge,
It was there I met my Mary and she coming down the road.
Alas, alas, our time grew short, her mother came in view,
And I had to quit down by the smith’s with my Mary from Murroe.
We came along together until we came to the boiling well,
We both sat down together until the dark night on us fell.
Oh, dark and dreary was the night that fell around us two,
May the daylight shine forever on my Mary from Murroe.
We moved along together ‘till we came to the shady grove,
Where the woodcock and the pheasant came roving down the brook.
Our enemies were on the road but us they could not view,
Three times I kissed the ruby lips of my Mary from Murroe.
We strolled along together ‘till we came to the painted gate,
‘Go home, go home, dear Mary, I fear it’s getting late,
Go home, go home, my Mary, your footsteps I’ll pursue,
And in spite of fate I’ll come again to court you near Murroe.
If I had all the riches that Lord Damer had in store,
Or half those earthly treasures that lie around Lackamore.
It’s feely I’d bestow them all, to them I’d bid adieu,
To spend one night by Mary’s side in that thatched house near Murroe.
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