Part I
Can it be true this thing they say?
That she and I beyond that day
At home here may no longer stay?
Mary, queen of earth and sea,
Dear Mary, have mercy on her and me!
Since my father died six months are gone,
Brothers and sisters have I none.
My lady and I live here alone.
Castle towers, you are stout and tall,
And the Boyne flows close to your outer wall!
Thirteen winters hath she lain
Pallet-held in woeful pain,
Small hope she ever will rise again!
Mary, queen of earth and sea,
Sweet Mary, look down upon her and me!
Old Murrough swears they shall not in,
But my lord is dead; our force is thin;
More blood to spill methinks were sin.
Here ’neath our Trysting Oak, I weep.
All round and round the grass rolls deep,
Sweet Saints! How sound the cattle sleep!