You brave Irish people, where'er you may be,
pay attention one moment and listen to me.
Your sons and fair daughters are now going away,
emigrating in thousands to America.
Their friends they assemble, their neighbours also.
Their cases are packed, all ready to go.
The tears from their eyes are falling like rain
as the horses are starting to go away to the train.
When they go in the carriage,
you can hear the last cry.
There are handkerchiefs waving, bidding goodbye.
The wild grief of their parents no words can portray.
And they cling to their dear ones
as the train pulls away.
