Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.

The summer's gone, and all the roses falling,

It's you, it's you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,

Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow,

It's I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow,

Oh, Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so!

But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,

If I am dead, as dead I well may be,

You'll come and find the place where I am lying,

And kneel and say an Ave there for me.

And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,

And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,

For you will bend and tell me that you love me,

And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!

"The Confession of Devorgilla", otherwise known as "Oh! shrive me, father".

'Oh! shrive me, father – haste, haste, and shrive me,

'Ere sets yon dread and flaring sun;

'Its beams of peace, – nay, of sense, deprive me,

'Since yet the holy work's undone.'

The sage, the wand'rer's anguish balming,

Soothed her heart to rest once more;

And pardon's promise torture calming,

The Pilgrim told her sorrows o'er.

原文3

The first writer, after Petrie's publication, to set verses to the tune was Alfred Perceval Graves, in the late 1870s. His song was entitled "Would I Were Erin's Apple Blossom o'er You". Graves later stated "that setting was, to my mind, too much in the style of church music, and was not, I believe, a success in consequence."

Would I were Erin's apple-blossom o'er you,

Or Erin's rose, in all its beauty blown,

To drop my richest petals down before you,

Within the garden where you walk alone;

In hope you'd turn and pluck a little posy,

With loving fingers through my foliage pressed,

And kiss it close and set it blushing rosy

To sigh out all its sweetness on your breast.

Irish Love Song

The tune was first called "Londonderry Air" in 1894 when Katherine Tynan Hinkson set the words of her "Irish Love Song" to it:

Would God I were the tender apple blossom

That floats and falls from off the twisted bough

To lie and faint within your silken bosom

Within your silken bosom as that does now.

Or would I were a little burnish'd apple

For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold,

While sun and shade your robe of lawn will dapple,

Your robe of lawn and your hair of spun gold.

Lyrics:

Would God I were the tender apple blossom 

That floats and falls from off the twisted bough 

To lie and faint within your silken bosom 

Within your silken bosom as that does now. 

Or would I were a little burnish'd apple 

For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold 

While sun and shade you robe of lawn will dapple 

Your robe of lawn, and you hair's spun gold. 

Yea, would to God I were among the roses 

That lean to kiss you as you float between 

While on the lowest branch a bud uncloses 

A bud uncloses, to touch you, queen. 

Nay, since you will not love, would I were growing 

A happy daisy, in the garden path 

That so your silver foot might press me going 

Might press me going even unto death.

Air from County Derry by Helmut Lotti

I would be true for there are those that trust me

I would be pure for there are those that care

I would be strong for there is much to suffer

I would be brave for there is much to dare

I'd love to do the perfect thing for everyone

but though I try to do the best I can

I do not know if it's that good a job I done

cause after all I'm just an ordinary man

( he's just an ordinary man)

I would be friend of all the weak and friendless

I would be giving and forget the gift

I would be humble for I know my weakness

I would look up and laugh, love and live

But if I fail I need someone to guide me

for though I try to do the best I can

I'm not a hero when no one's beside me

Forgive me, Lord, I'm just an ordinary man

( he's just an ordinary man)