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Oh! gradh machree, Mavourneen, Won't you buy our heath-broom? Before he had finished a tinker arrived, too drunk to stand or walk, but leading a tall horse with his left hand, and inviting anyone who would deny that he was the best horseman in Wicklow to fight with him on the spot. Soon afterwards I started on my way home, driving most of the way with a farmer from the same neighbourhood.
Heath-broom, freestone, black turf, gather them up. Oh! gradh machree, Mavourneen, Won't you buy our heath-broom? When the season is over Won't we be in clover, With the gold in our pockets We got from heath-broom. It's home we will toddle, And we'll get a naggin, And we'll drink to the maidens that bought our heath-broom. Heath-broom, freestone, black turf, gather them up.
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