“She’s the darlin’ of the parish, she’s the pride of
Inniskillen;
‘Twould make your heart lep up to see her trippin’
down the glen;
There’s not a lad of life and fame that wouldn’t take
her shillin’
And inlist inside her service-did ye hear her laughin’
then?

Did ye see her with her hand in mine the day that
Clancy married?
Ah, darlin’, how we footed it-the grass it was so
green!
And when the neighbours wandered home, I was the
guest that tarried,
An hour plucked from Paradise—come back to me,
Rosleen!

Across the seas, beyand the hills, by lovely Inniskillen,
The rigiment come marchin’—I hear the call once
more
Shure, a woman’s but a woman—so I took the Sergeant’s
shillin’,
For the pride o’ me was hurted—shall I never see
her more?

She turned her face away from me, and black as night
the land became;
Her eyes were jewels of the sky, the finest iver seen;
She left me for another lad, he was a lad of life and
fame,
And the heart of me was hurted—but there’s none
that’s like Rosleen!”