She lived beside the Anner at the foot of Slievenaman,
A gentle peasant girl with mild eyes like the dawn.
Her lips were dewy rosebuds, her teeth of pearls rare,
And a snowdrift 'neath a beechen bough Her neck and nut-brown hair.

How pleasant was to meet her on Sunday when the bell
Was filling with its mellow tones lone wood and grassy dell.
And when at evening when young maidens strayed the river bank along
The widow's brown-haired daughter was loveliest of the throng.

Ah, cold and well nigh callous this weary heart has grown
For thy helpless fate, dear Ireland, and for sorrows of my own
Yet a tear my eye will moisten when by Anner side I stray
For the lily of the mountain foot that withered far away.