A Róisín, ná bíodh brón ort ná chás anois
tá do phárdún ó'n Róimh agus ó'n bPápa agat
tá na bráithre ag teacht thar
sáile agus ag tríall thar muir
'S ni ceilfear fíon Spáinneach ar mo Róisín Dubh

Tá grá agam i mo lár dhuit le blíain anois
grá cráite, grá cásmhar, grá ciapaithe
grá a d'fhág mé gan sláinte, gan rían, gan ruith
is go bráth, bráth, gan aon fháil a
leagadh ar mo Róisín Dubh

Beidh an Éirne ina tuilte dearga 's an spéir 'na fuil
beidh an saol ina choghadh craorach
is réadfar chnoic
beidh gach gleann sléibhe ar fuid Éireann
agus móinte ar crith, la eigin
sula n-eagfaidh mo Róisín Dubh

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DARK ROSALEEN aka ROSIN DUBH

O MY Dark Rosaleen,
Do not sigh, do not weep!
The priests are on the ocean green,
They march along the deep.
There 's wine from the royal Pope,
Upon the ocean green;
And Spanish ale shall give you hope,
My Dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope,
Shall give you health, and help, and hope,
My Dark Rosaleen!

Over hills, and thro' dales,
Have I roam'd for your sake;
All yesterday I sail'd with sails
On river and on lake.
The Erne, at its highest flood,
I dash'd across unseen,
For there was lightning in my blood,
My Dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
O, there was lightning in my blood,
Red lightning lighten'd thro' my blood.
My Dark Rosaleen!

All day long, in unrest,
To and fro, do I move.
The very soul within my breast
Is wasted for you, love!
The heart in my bosom faints
To think of you, my Queen,
My life of life, my saint of saints,
My Dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
To hear your sweet and sad complaints,
My life, my love, my saint of saints,
My Dark Rosaleen!

Woe and pain, pain and woe,
Are my lot, night and noon,
To see your bright face clouded so,
Like to the mournful moon.
But yet will I rear your throne
Again in golden sheen;
'Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone,
My Dark Rosaleen!

My own Rosaleen!
'Tis you shall have the golden throne,
'Tis you shall reign, and reign alone,
My Dark Rosaleen!
Over dews, over sands,
Will I fly, for your weal:
Your holy delicate white hands
Shall girdle me with steel.
At home, in your emerald bowers,
From morning's dawn till e'en,
You'll pray for me, my flower of flowers,
My Dark Rosaleen!