There strayed down the path from the top of the pass

Such a slim little, prim little, trim little lass.

“Oho!” then quoth I, and “aha!” murmured she,

With as pretty a curtsy as ever you ’d see;

“Won’t you pause?” I inquired; “I don’t mind,” said her mien,

So we looked, side by side, from the Bridge of Luckeen.

How the minutes flew by, an’ the stream how it flowed,

While never a soul came along by the road;

An’ I thought her eyes sweeter than Maeve ever knew,

An’ she deemed me far bolder than Brian Boru!

There ’s a priest that ties knots, so the knowin’ ones say,

In a neat little church in the town of Glenbeigh;

If there ’s luck anywhere, there is luck at Luckeen!