Young Connel was gallant, young Ellen was fair He gaz'd and she blush'd, no one whisper'd - beware Young Ellen was fair and young Connel was brave, He swore to her beauty his heart was a slave; He pip'd and he danc'd and he sang full of glee And his song was of love and the maid of Tralee. Fair Ellen, sweet Ellen, fair Ellen O Reilly, Fair Ellen, the maid of Tralee.
O say can the tongue a soft language impart, Persuasive and sweet yet unknown to the heart? Can true love so soon with possession grow cold Or, say, did he sigh after glory or gold? For high wav'd the banner, he went o'er the sea, And left to her sorrow the maid of Tralee. Fair Ellen, sweet Ellen, fair Ellen O Reilly, Fair Ellen, the maid of Tralee.
That cheek where the roses and lilies were spread, Now boasts but the lily - the roses are fled; That eye, whose bright glance the heart's raptures reveal'd, Now dim with a tear, no more lustre shall yield; And broken with sighs, now for ever must be The once tuneful voice of the maid of Tralee. Fair Ellen, sweet Ellen, fair Ellen O Reilly, Fair Ellen, the maid of Tralee.
from The Harp of Renfrewshire: a collection of songs and other poetical pieces, by William Motherwell (page 58)