How often haunting the highest hilltop,
I scan the ocean thy sail to see; [bad word] tonight, love? [bad word] tomorrow?
Wilt [bad word]  love, [bad word] me?

Fhir a bhata, no horo eile,
Fhir a bhata, no horo eile,
Fhir a bhata, no horo eile,
O fare thee well, love, where'er ye be.

They call thee fickle, they call thee false one,
And seek to change me, but all in vain;
No, thou'rt art my dream yet throughout the dark night,
And every mornin I scan the main.

Fhir a bhata, no horo eile,
Fhir a bhata, no horo eile,
Fhir a bhata, no horo eile,
O fare thee well, love, where'er ye be.

There's not a hamlet -too well I know it-
Where you go wandering or sat awhile,
But all its old folk you win with talking,
And charm its maidens with song and smile.

Fhir a bhata, no horo eile,
Fhir a bhata, no horo eile,
Fhir a bhata, no horo eile,
O fare thee well, love, where'er ye be.

Dost thou remember the promise made me,
The tartan plaidie, the silken gown,
The ring of gold with thy hair and portrait?
That gown and ring I will never own.

Fhir a bhata, no horo eile,
Fhir a bhata, no horo eile,
Fhir a bhata, no horo eile,
O fare thee well, love, where'er ye be.