written by Robert Dwyer Joyce (1836–1883)
I sat within a valley green
I sat me with my true love
My sad heart strove to choose between
The old love and the new love
The old for her, the new that made
Me think on Ireland dearly
While soft the wind blew down the glen
And shook the golden barley
T' was hard the woeful words to frame
To break the ties that bound us
And harder still to bear the shame
Of foreign chains around us
And so I said, "The mountain glen
I'll seek at morning early
And i'll join the bold United Men
While soft winds shook the barley
T' was sad I kissed away her tears
My fond arms 'round her flinging
A full man shot burst on our ears
Came out the wildwood ringing
A bullet pierced my true love's side
In life's young spring so early
And on my breast in blood she died
While soft winds shook the barley
But blood for blood without remorse
I've taken to Oulart Hollow
And laid my true love's clay-cold corpse
Where I full soon may follow
Around her grave I wander drear
Noon, night and morning early
With breaking heart when e'er I hear
The wind that shakes the barley
