Our mountain brooks were rushing, Annie, dear,
The Autumn eve was flushing, Annie, dear;
Bur brighter was your blushing,
When first, your murmurs hushing,
I told my love outgushing, Annie, dear.
Ah! but out hope were splendid, Annie, dear;
How sadly have they ended, Annie, dear;
The ring betwixt us broken,
When our vows of love were spoken,
Of your poor heart was a token, Annie, dear.
The primrose flowers were shining, Annie, dear,
When on my breast reclining, Annie, dear,
Began our mi na meala
And many a month did follow
Of joy - but life is hollow, Annie, Dear.
For once, when home returning, Annie, dear,
I found our cottage burning, Annie, dear,
Around it were the yeomen,
Of every ill and omen,
The country's bitter foemen, Annie, dear.
But why arose a morrow, Annie, dear,
Upon that night of sorrow, Annie dear?
Far better by thee lying,
Their bayonet's defying,
Than live an exile sighing, Annie, dear.