The light-hearted daughters of Erin,
Like the wild mountain deer they can bound,
Their feet never touch the green island,
But music is struck from the ground.
And oft in the glens and green meadows,
The ould jig they dance with such grace,
That even the daisies they tread on,
Look up with delight in their face.
Then a fig, etc.
An ould Irish jig, too, was danced by