Mary Dillon (Déanta)
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"So pack up your sea stores consider no longer
For ten dollars a week isn't very bad pay
With no taxes or tithes to devour up your wages
When you're on the green fields of America.
Farewell to the groves of shillelagh and shamrock.
Farewell to the wee girls of Ireland all around.
May your hearts be as merry as ever I could wish for.
It's far away across the ocean I'm bound.
Well me father is old and me mother is quite feeble;
And to leave their own country it grieves their heart sore,
And the tears down their cheeks in great drops are rolling
To think they must die upon a foreign shore.
The sheep run unsheered and the land's run to rushes
The handyman's gone, and the winder of creals
,
Away across the ocean, go journeyman sailors
And fiddlers that flaked out the old mountain reels
,
Ah but I mind the time when old Ireland was flourishing,
And when lots of her tradesmen did work for good pay
Ah, but since our manufacturers have crossed the Atlantic
It's there we must follow to America.
And it's now to conclude and to finish my story
If ever friendless Irishman chances my way
With the best in the house I will greet him and welcome
Far away on the green fields of America."