Our Own Dear Colleen Bawn
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In a humble Irish homestead, in a vale called Yellow town,
Lived a maiden fair and comely, where Tory Hill looks down.
Till one day there came a stranger, dressed in clothes rich and rare
He told her that he loved her, and stole her heart away.
When he told her that he loved her, that soon his bride she'd be,
In the dark of night he stole her, when no human eye could see,
When with his willing captive, to the treaty town they came,
Another dressed as cleric, a marriage was proclaimed.
He soon grew tired of Eileen, and planned to do her in,
As they sailed the lordly Shannon, to the little town of Glin,
There they planned for her a boat trip, to the far off coast of Clare,
On the voyage they took her young life, and left her body there.
The law soon captured Scanlan, it was the murderer's name,
With hands clasped in irons, back to Limerick jail he came.
When the judge read out the sentence, with a black cap on his head,
For this cruel and terrible murder, you will hang until you're dead.
Good people of Maigue-side, just breathe a silent prayer,
For the soul of Ellen Hanley, who rests now in County Clare,
When it's moonlight over Tory, or the clear daylight of dawn,
Do not forget our little princess, she was our Colleen Bawn.