Come over the hills, my bonny Irish lass,

come over the hills to your darling.

You choose the rose, love, and I’ll make the vow,

and I’ll be your true love forever.

Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows,

fair is the lily of the valley,

clear is the water that flows from the Boyne,

but my love is fairer than any.

‘Twas down by Killarney’s green woods that we strayed

when the moon and the stars, they were shining.

The moon shone its rays on her locks of golden hair

and she swore she’d be my love forever.

It’s not for the parting that my sister pains,

it’s not for the grief of my mother,

it’s all for the loss of my bonny Irish lass

that my heart is breaking forever.