Martha, The Flower Of Sweet Straban

If I was King of Ireland with all things at my will

I'd roam for recreation, new comfort to find still

But the comfort I would like the best, as you will understand

Oh would be to gain that lovely maid, the flower of sweet Strabane

Her cheeks were like the roses red, her hair of lovely brown

And o'er her milk-white shoulders, hair ringlets hanging down

She's one of the fairest creatures of the whole Milesian Clan

Sure my heart is fairly captured by the flower of sweet Strabane

But since I cannot win you, love, no joy there is for me

I will seek forgetfulness in the land across the sea

Unless you chance to follow me, I'll swear by my right hand

MacDonald's face you never will see, fair flower of sweet Strabane

I wished I had my darling way down in Inisowen

Or in a lonesome valley in the wild woods of Tyrone

I would do my whole endeavour, I would work my newest plan

For to gain you, lovely Martha, the flower of sweet Strabane

I've often been in Phoenix Park and then Killarney fair

Likewise in bonny Scotland and the winding banks of Ayr

But yet, in all my travels, I never met with one

That I could compare with Martha, the flower of sweet Strabane

Farewell bonny Lifford and to Mourne's Waterside

I'm sailing for America, whichever may betide

Our ship is bound for Liverpool straight by the Isle of Man

So farewell my dearest Martha, the flower of sweet Strabane

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