You maidens now pity this sorrowful moan I make
I am a young maiden in grief for my darling's sake
My true lover's absence in sorrow I grieve full sore
And each day I lament for my Jimmy Mo Mhíle Stór.

These twelve months and better my darling has left these shore
He ne'er will return 'til he travels the wide world o'er
And when he comes back he'll have silver and gold in store
He's the truest of lovers, my Jimmy Mo Mhíle Stór.

My father and mother they never do give me peace
Since my true love has left me to sail o'er the stormy seas
They would give me a sweetheart with money and flocks and more,
But my heart's o'er the ocean with Jimmy Mo Mhíle Stór.

The Banks of Sullane

A song first heard from the late Diarmuid O'Súilleabháin of Coolea, West Cork in the early seventies.

It was early on a bright summer's morning as I strayed by the banks of Sullane
For to gaze on the beauties nature that grace every woodland and lawn.
The prospects were surely entrancing as gay lassies in juvenile bloom
Promenaded by the banks of that river, that flows near the town on Macroom.

I being airy and fond of recreation, by that riverside I chanced for to roam
'Til weary of my ramblings and rovings I sat myself down by a grove,
I sat there a while meditating, 'til the sun her bright rays had withdrawn
And a damsel of queenly appearance came down by the banks of Sullane.

I arose with great joy and emotion, and accosted this vision so fair
She appeared unto me like a Venus, all adorned with jewels most rare
Were I ruler of France or of Prussia, sure 'tis with me you'd soon wear the crown
And I'd join you in wedlock, oh my darling, you're the beauty of sweet Massey town.

We walked and we talked on together inhaling the sweet plaesant air,
'Til at length, in a voice unaffected, she said "Sir, my father lives there."
His presence to me was appalling with his cross angry looks and his frown
That pierced through my heart like an arrow on my way down to sweet Massey town.

So now I'm retired from my stoírín with a heart full of sorrow and grief,
There is no-one in this world to console me or give me the slightest relief.
I will roam through the African desert until death summons me to my tomb
For the sake of that charming fair Helen that I met near the town of Macroom