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    Little Black Rose

    17-19th century

    Roisin, have no sorrow for all that has happened to you
    the Friars are out on the brine,. they are travelling the sea
    your pardon from the Pope will come, from Rome in the East
    and we won't spare the Spanish wine for my Roisin Dubh

    Far have we journeyed together, since days gone by.
    I've crossed over mountains with her, and sailed the sea
    I have cleared the Erne, though in spate, at a single leap
    and like music of the strings all about me, my Roisin Dubh

    You have driven me mad, fickle girl- may it do you no good!
    My soul is in thrall, not just yesterday nor today
    You have left me weary and weak in body and mind
    O deceive not the one who loves you, my Roisin Dubh

    I would walk in the dew beside you, or the bitter desert
    in hopes I might have your affection, or part of your love
    Fragrant small branch, you have given your word you love me
    the choicest flower of Munster, my Roisin Dubh
    If I had six horses, I would plough against the hill-
    I'd make Roisin Dubh my Gospel in the middle of Mass-
    I'd kiss the young girl who would grant me her maidenhead
    and do deeds behind the lios with my Roisin Dubh!

    The Erne will be strong in flood, the hills be torn
    the ocean will be all red waves, the sky all blood,
    every mountain and bog in Ireland will shake
    one day, before she shall perish, my Roisin Dubh.

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