Oh boys, ochón, I’m sad and ‘lone my eyes with salt tear fill.
I am bound today for Boston Bay in a steamship from Moyville.
There is no relief, I’m going with grief, my pride has got a fall,
For I’m leaving darling Roisín Dubh, my girl from Donegal.

For she has eyes like May-morn skies and the midnight in her hair,
Her fond white breast a cosy nest and a face that’s ever fair.
Where Erin’s rose in beauty grows the rarest rose of all,
She bloomed and grew my Roisín Dubh, my girl from Donegal.

It is I’d be glad, an Irish lad to travel the old, old soil,
With a pick or spade though poorly paid, from the Shannon to the Foyle.
I have travelled here and travelled there, my looks gone to the wall,
And I’m leaving darling Roisín Dubh, my girl from Donegal.

See also
The Girl from Donegal sung by Tom Lenihan