THE HILLS OF DONEGAL

Oh, Donegal, the pride of all, my heart still turns to thee,
With my cottage home, where oft I roamed, when I was young and free,
Big houses grand, in foreign lands, they can't compare at all,
With my cottage bright, on a winter's night, by the hills of Donegal.

Right well I mind, in the harvest time, that all too dreary day,
When leaving all in Donegal, to wander far away,
In Creesna town, my friends stood round, I bid farewell to all,
Then on the ban sure I waved my hand, to the hills of Donegal.

When gazing back to Barna's gap, at my own dear native hills,
I'll taunt no shame, for who could blame, 'twas there I cried my fill,
My parents kind, ran in my mind, my friends and comrades all,
But I heaved a sigh, and bade goodbye, to the hills of Donegal.

Oh, gra mo cree, I long to see, my own native hills again,
On a foreign shore, my heart is sore, with exiles, long in pain,
Could I but see those mountains free, 'twould compensate for all,
And I’d live as my forefathers lived, and die in Donegal.

HTML line breaks added, capitalization standardized. --JoeClone, 7-Mar-02.