Your hills and dales and flowery vales that lies near the moorlock shore,Your vines that blow through burdens' row, shall I ever see you more?Where the primrose grows and the violet glows,Where the trout and salmon play,With my line and hook, delight I took to spend my youthful days.As I marched out to meet my girl and to hear what she said,She would say how to see if she'd take pity on me before I would go away.She said I loved an Irish lad,And he was mine.And ever since I saw his face,I loved my soldier boy.Perhaps your soldier boy was lost,While crossing the raging main.Or perhaps he is gone with some other girl,You might never see him again.Well, if my Irish boy is lost,He's the one I do adore.And for seven long years I'll wait for himOn the banks of the moorlock shore.Farewell to St. Clair's Castle,On the banks of the moorlock shore.Farewell to foggy hills,Where the linen webs like bleaching silk,And the purling stream runs still.Near there I spent my youthful days,But unless they're all alone,And cruelty has banished me,Far away from the moorlock shore.Farewell to St. Clair's castle.Farewell to St. Clair's castle.