Going to Mass of me, God was gracious
The day came rainy and the wind did blow
And near Kiltartan I met a maiden
Whose love enslaved me and left me low
I spoke to her gently, the courteous maiden
And gently and gaily she answered so:
“Come, Raftery, with me, and let me take you
To Ballylee, where I have to go.”

When I got the offer, I did not put off (its acceptance)
I laughed, and my heart bounded ;
We had only to go across the field
And we only brought the day to the back of the house
There was laid for us a table on which was a glass and quart
And the ringletted coolun beside me sittmg
‘Twas what she said, “Raftery be drinking, and, a hundred welcomes
The cellar is strong in Ballylee.”

It is lovely and airy on the side of the mountain
Looking down upon Ballylee
Walking in the grass, picking nuts and blackberries
The warbling of birds there is all as one as fairy music
What is the good of all that, till you would get a sight
Of the blossom of the branches who is by its side;
There is no use in denying it, and I conceal it from no one
She is the sky of the sun and the love of my heart
I travelled England and France together
Spain and Greece and back again
From the brink of Loch Greine to the Mouth of the Quay
And I nover saw a faireen at all like her
If I were wed to the Blossom of Youth
Through Loch an Toraic I would follow her
Harbours and coasts I would walk, and roads
After the jewel-woman who is in Ballylee

It is Mary Hynes is the courteous, stately woman
Of nicest mien and most lovely appearance;
Two hundred clerks, and to put them together
One-third of her accomplishments they could not write
She beat Deidre for fineness, and Venus
And if I were to mention Helen by whom Troy was destroyed
But she is the flower of Ireland on account of all that
The Posy Bright who is in Ballylee

O Star of Light, O Sun of Harvest
O Amber Coolun, (my) share of the world
Would you proceed with me, against Sunday
Until we take counsel where shall our sitting be
I would not think it much for you, music every Sunday night
Punch upon the table, and, if you would drink it, wine
And, O King of Glory, may the road dry
Until I find the way to Ballylee