By the clear lakes of Killarney
Walked a youth one fine Summer morn,
Who softly was whispering blarney
To one whom he called Colleen Bawn;
He promised her jewels so rare,
He promised her gold in galore,
And said that a maiden so fair
Deserved all she wished for and more.
Then beam'd on the sweet face of Eily
A smile like the first blush of dawn,
And she said, while glancing so slyly:
You'll marry your own Colleen Bawn;
You'll marry your own Colleen Bawn.
He spoke of his family's pride-
She told him at once to be gone,
And said: Sir, unless as a bride,
In vain you will seek Colleen Bawn.
The wild flowers that grow by the lake
Are jewels sufficient for me,
And all the gold from you I'd take,
In a plain, simple ring it must be.
Then bright grew the sweet face of Eily,
For he promised the very next morn,
To speak to the priest, Father Riley,
And marry his dear Colleen Bawn;
And marry his dear Colleen Bawn.