The Streams of Bunclody
Were I at the Moss-House where the birds do
At the foot of Mount Leinster or some silent place
Near the streams of Bunclody where all pleasures do meet,
And all I’d require is one kiss from you, sweet.
If I were a clerk and could write a good hand
I would write to my true love that she might understand;
I am a young fellow who is wounded in love;
I once lived in Bunclody but now must remove.
The reason my love slights me, as you may
She’s got a freehold and I have no land;
She has great store of riches and a large sum of gold
And everything fitting a house to uphold.
So fare you well, father, and my mother adieu,
My sister and brother, farewell unto you.
I am bound for Amerikay my fortune to try;
When I think on Bunclody I’m ready to die.