Jackets Green
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When I was a maiden fair and young
On the pleasant banks of Lee
No bird that in the greenwood sang
Was half so blithe and free
My heart ne'er beat with flying feet
No love sang me his queen
Till down the glen rode Sarsfield's men
And they wore their jackets green
No hoarded wealth did my love own
Save the good sword that he bore
But I loved him for himself alone
And the colour bright he wore
For had he come in England's red
To make me England's queen
I'd roam the high green hills in stead
For the sake of the Irish green
When William stormed with shot and shell
At the walls of Garryowen
'Twas in the breach my Donald fell
And he sleeps 'neath the treaty stone
That breach the poor man never crossed
While he swung his broadsword keen
But I do not weep my Donald dead
For he fell in his jacket green