Earliest printings of this song can be found in broadsides from the 1840's.

These from the Bodleian Library Broadside Ballads

"Drecharain O'Machree"
Printer: Wm. Wright (Birmingham)
Between 1842 and 1855

I am a young fellow that always lov’d rural sport
To the towns and cities of Erin I used to resort,
Where the true sons of Bacchus were chiefly my company,
Until I was deprived of my Drecharian O’Machree.

In Dublin's fair city my brother was first press’d away,
On board of the tender to cross o’er the raging sea
Where the cannons do rattle, and bullets came rolling by.
Perhaps in that battle my Diecbarian O, does lie

When we liv’d together we did each other adore
This green little island we rambled o’er and o’er.
We work’d at our trade, and our earnings we spent quite free,
Until I was deprived of my Drecharian O'Machiee

The womb turn’d to earth that birth gave to my brother and me,
And also my father is gone to eternity !
Like babes in the forest poor forlorn orphans are we,
Which mikes me lament for my Drecharian O'Machree.

Great measures of treasures be with him wherever he be,
Dispersion of pleasure and human felicity,
Where gold is their God, and the copper eternity
Which makes me lament for my Drecharian O’Machree.

If Providence would aid me and send me wherever he lie.
My life and existence I would venture to set him free,
Like a true loyal brother I’d fight for him manfuly
Anil die in the arms of my Dreiharian O’Machree

The name of a nymph that Jupiter did admire,
The head and tail of a fowl you must inquire,
The name of a beast exchang'd in a letter or three
Will tell you the name of my Drecbarian O 'Machree


"Drahareen O ma chree"
Printer: Haly (Cork)
Before 1850

I am a young fellow,
That always loved rural sport,
The fairs and the patrons of Erin,
I often used to resort,
Where the true sons of Bacchus,
Were chiefly my company
Until I was deprived of
My Drahareen O ma Chree

From the Cove of Cork City,
My brother he first sailed away,
On board of a steamer,
To cross o’er to Spain by sea
Where cannons do rattle,
And bullets like lightning fly,
Perhaps in the battle
My Drahareen O did die.

When we both lived together,
We did each other adore.
This lovely green Isle
We rambled it o’er and o’er;
We worked at our trade
And our earnings we spent in glee
Until I was deprived of
My Drahareen O ma Chree.

The womb turned to earth
That gave birth to my brother and me,
And likewise my good father
Is gone to eternity:
Like the babes in the forest,
Poor forlorn orphans are we,
Which makes me lament for
My Drahareen O ma Chree.

If providence should aid me
And send to me Spain where he be
My life and existence I’d venture
To set him at liberty;
like a true loyal brother
I would fight for him manfully
and die in the arms of
My Drahareen O ma Chree.

The name of a nymph
That Jupiter did admire
the head and tail of a fowl
You must next inquire;
the name of a beast
Exchanged in a letter of three
Will give you the name of -
My Drahareen O ma Chree.