O Little Head of Curls, you're my temptation —
When you flash before my eyes what can I do?
Were I a King I'd leave my lofty station,
And walk the world a-stoirin , after you!
Ay, walk the world, nor envy mortal in it —
But travel gaily while the tempest whirls,
You'd be my Summer and my singing Linnet,
My Treasure-Store — O Little Head of Curls.

O Little Head of Curls, your father's winning,
Red gold to give the childeen of his heart,
And your thrifty mother sits above her spinning —
My grief! the wealth that keeps us both apart!
And what have I to offer for their jewel?
Ah, nothing, cailin deas , save love of you,
So they scorn me in the fair with glances cruel,
While you coax me with those laughing eyes of blue.

O Little Head of Curls, I'll cross the water,
Since a poor boy has no peace where'er you be —
And maybe then your haughty mother's daughter
Will sometimes have a kindly wish for me.
A-ruin — a-ruin , is that a tear down falling,
And what is this your trembling sweet lips say
" Would I break your heart entirely? " No, mo chailin ,
So to comfort and console you, Love, I'll stay: