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 Ah! wherefore, wherefore would ye die; Why would ye leave your parents dear; Why leave your sorrowing kinsmen here, Nor listen to your people's cry!

How wilt thy mother bear to part With one so tender, fair and sweet! Thou wast the jewel of her heart, The pulse, the life, that made it beat.

How sad it is to leave her boy, That tender flowret all alone; To see no more his face of joy, And soothe no more his infant moan!

But see along the mountains side, And by the pleasant banks of Larney, Straight o'er the plains, and woodlands wide, By Castle Brae, and Lock Macharney:

See how the sorrowing neighbours throng. With haggard looks and faultering breath; And as they slowly wind along, They sing the mournful song of death!

O loudly sing the Pillalu, And many a tear of sorrow shed; Och orro, orro, Olalu; Mourn, for the master's child is dead.