He tells me be loves me, and can I believe
The heart be hath won he can wish to deceive-
Forever and always his fond words to me
Are, Aileen Mavourneen, a cush-la-machree;
Last night when we parted his gentle good-bye
A thousand times said, and each time with a sigh,
Each time with a sigh, and still the same words be whisper'd to me,
My Aileen Mavourneen, My Aileen Mavourneen, a cush-la-machree.
The friend of my childhood, the hope of my youth,
Whose heart is all pure, and whose words are all truth;
Yet still the same fond words be whispered to me
Were, "Aileen Mavourneen, a cush-la-machree!"
Oh, when will the day come, the dear, happy day,
That a maiden may hear all a lover can say, all a lover can say?
And he speaks out the words he has whispered to me,
"Aileen Mavourneen, Aileen Mavourneen, a cush-la-machree!"