Not far from old Kinvara, in the merry month of May,
When the birds were singing cheerily, there came across my way,
As if from out the skies above an angel chanced to fall
A little Irish colleen in her old plaid Shawl.

(II)She tripped along right joyously a basket in her arm,
And o'er her face and o'er her grace, a soul with charm
Her brown hair, hung rapturously o'er her brow,
But the greater charm of all, was her most blue eyes beaming
'Neath her old plaid Shawl.
(III)I courteously saluted her, God save you miss said I
God save you kindly Sir she said and shyly passed me by.
Off went my heart along with her a captive in her thrawl,
Imprisoned in the corners of her old Plaid Shawl.
(IV)I stood and then gazed after her, with a tranquil pure delight,
Until around a corner of the road she vanished from my sight,
Its often since I sighing say, as I those scenes recall
The grace of God about you and your old Plaid Sha