The Flower of Sweet Strabane
(Trad. 19th century, but might be earlier.)

If I were King of Ireland's Isle
And had all things at my will
I'd roam for recreation
And I'd seek for comfort still.
The comfort I would ask for,
So that you may understand
Is to win the heart of Martha,
The Flower of Sweet Strabane.

Her cheeks they are a ruby red,
Her hair a lovely brown
And o'er her milk-white shoulders
It carelessly hangs down.
She is the fairest creature
And the pride of all her clan
And my heart is captivated
By the Flower of Sweet Strabane.

Well I've been in the Phoenix Park
And in Killarney fair,
The lovely glens of Antrim
And the winding banks of Clare.
In all my earthly travels
I never yet met one
That could compare, I do declare,
With the Flower of Sweet Strabane.

But since I cannot gain her love
No joy there is for me,
And I must seek forgetfulness
In lands across the sea.
Unless she cares to follow me,
I swear by my right hand
McKenna's face you'll ne'er more see,
My Flower of Sweet Strabane.

So it's farewell to sweet Derry Quay,
New Mills and Waterside
I'll sail out o'er the ocean,
Whatever may betide.
I'll sail away from Derry Quay
Out by the Isle of Man,
And I'll bid farewell to Martha,
The Flower of Sweet Strabane.