Текст песни: Scott, The Musical. Letters From Long Island. Moorlough Mary.

[Irish Folksong]

The first time I saw young Moorlough Mary
?Twas in a market of Sweet Strabane;
Her smiling countenance were so engaging,
All other fair ones she did trapan.
Her killing glances bereave my senses;
No rest can I find either night or day;
In my silent slumber I start with wonder,
Saying ?Moorluogh Mary, will you come away??

From Moorlough banks I will never wander,
Where heifers gaze on yon pleasant soil;
Where lambkins sporting, fair maids resorting,
The timorous hare, and blue heather bell.
I?ll press my cheese, and my wool I?ll tease,
And my ewes I?ll milk by the eve of day;
The hurling moor-cock and lark alarms me;
From Bonnie Moorlough I?ll never stray.

I?ll go down to yon woodland to my situation,
Where recreation is all in view,
On the river Mourne where salmons sporting,
And sounding echoes bring something new.
The thrush and blackbird will join in chorus
With notes melodious on Liskea brae,
And the sweet lough stream I would restore you,
Saying?Moorlough Mary, will you come away??

Were I a man of great education,
As I heard the wild ochone.
I?d lean my head on her snowy bosom,
In wedlock?s band, love, give me your hand.
I?d entertain her both eve and morning;
With robes I?d dress her both rich and gay;
With kisses sweet I would embrace her,
Saying ?Moorlough Mary, will you come away??

Fare thee well, then, young Moorlough Mary,
Ten thousand times I?ve bid you adieu;
While life remains in my glowing bosom.
I?ll never cease, love, but to think of you.
I?ll build my house upon yon high mountain,
I?ll deck it round with the berry tree,
Since I have gained you, young Moorlough Mary,
Though often times you have strayed from me