I am a wand'ring minstrel man, And Love my only theme, I've stray'd beside the pleasant Bann, And eke the Shannon's stream; I've pip'd and play'd to wife and maid By Barrow, Suir, and Nore, But never met a maiden yet Like Brighidin Ban Mo Store.
My girl hath ringlets rich and rare, By Nature's fingers wove - Loch-Carra's swan is not so fair As her breast of love; And when she moves, in Sunday sheen, Beyond our cottage door, I'd scorn the high-born Saxon queen For Brighidin Ban Mo Store.
It is not that thy smile is sweet, And soft thy voice of song - It is not that thou fleest to meet My comings lone and long; But that doth rest beneath thy breast, A heart of purest core, Whose pulse is known to me alone, My Brighidin Ban Mo Store!