By Patrick Tunney
Written in the Curragh Camp, 1921.
My dearest Maura, I’m sadly pining,
Where summers beauty is ever drear.
But the star of love is still brightly shining,
Although I’m parted from you my dear.
Oh, I miss the charms and fond embrace,
Of the only colleen that’s dear to me.
But none on earth can take the place of,
My darling Maura, asthore Machree.
Your love so tender, oh, fairest maiden,
I often miss on the Curragh plains.
To your traits so gentle, with meekness laden,
I will be true whilst life remains.
Your true affection I fondly cherish,
Though now, my love, I am miles from thee.
Soon, soon, I’ll see you or sadly perish,
My darling Maura, asthore Machree.
No time or distance will ever change me,
No matter where I may chance to go.
No other fair one will e’er derange me,
My pride you’ll be in lone West Mayo.
Though vile oppressors may thus divide us,
My undying love they can’t take from me.
But for a time they can sadly chide us,
My darling Maura, asthore Machree.
Oh, the dawn of freedom will soon be beaming,
And I’ll return to you asthore.
In the Curragh dungeons I’ll cease my dreaming,
And from my Maura I’ll part no more.
‘Mid Mayo’s mountains I’ll live contented,
My native Érin I’ll be true to thee.
My hand and love I have now presented,
To my darling Maura, asthore Machree.
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