Martha, The Flower of Sweet Strabane

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