Near to Banbridge Town, in the County Down one morning last July
Down a boreen green came a sweet colleen and she smiled as she passed me by
Oh, she looked so neat from her two bare feet to the sheen of her nut-brown hair
Sure the coaxing elf, Iґd to shake myself to make sure I was standing there
As she onward sped sure I scratched my head and I gazed with a feeling quare
And I said, says I, to a passer-by, «Whoґs the maid with the nut-brown hair?»
Oh, he smiled at me, and with pride says he, «Thatґs the gem of Irelandґs crown
Sheґs young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann, sheґs the Star of the County Down»
At the harvest fair Iґll be surely there and Iґll dress in my Sunday clothes
And Iґll try sheepґs eyes, and deludhering cries on the heart of the nut-brown rose
No pipe Iґll smoke, no horse Iґll yoke though my plow with rust turns brown
Till a smiling bride by my own fireside sits the Star of the County Down
Oh, from Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay, and from Galway to Dublin-Town
No maid Iґve seen like the sweet colleen that I met in the County Down