By the bright bay of Dublin while carelessly strolling
I sat myself down by a clear crystal stream
Reclined on the beach where the wild waves were rolling
In sorrow condoling I spied a fair maid.
Her robes changed to mourning that once were so glorious
I stood in amazement to hear her sad tale
Her heartstrings burst forth in wild accents deploring
Sayin, Where is my blackbird of sweet Avondale?
To the fair counties Meath, Kerry, Cork and Tipperary
The notes of his country my blackbird will sing
But woe to the hour when we'll part light and airy
He flew from my arms in Dublin to Queens.
Now the fowlers waylay him in hopes to enchain him
While I here in sorrow his absence bewail
It grieves me to think that the walls of Kilmainham
Surrounds my poor blackbird of sweet Avondale.
Now the cold prison dungeon is no habitation
For one for his country who fought loyal and true
Come grant him his pardon without hesitation
For remember he fought hard for freedom and you.
Now the birds in the forest for me have no charm
Not even the voice of the sweet nightingale
Her notes full of charm fills my heart with alarm
Since I lost my poor blackbird of sweet Avondale.