{title:Kitty Bawn O'Brien}
{subtitle:Allister MacGillivary}
[D]Soft blows the [G]wind both [D] sweet and warm
From the [G] peaks called [A7] Knockmeal [D]down,
The [D]songbird [G] sings his [D] weary [Bm]notes a[Em]bove Blackwater [A7]Sound;
From [A7]my heart no [D]joys de[A7]part‘s, no beauty can en[Bm]thral.
My[D]Kitty Bawn O'[G]Brien's [Em]gone to [A]far off Montre[D]al.
I met her at the Mallow Fair where lovers sport and play.
I watched her feet move lightly while the piper droned away.
She sang a song so lilting there, her hands beneath her shawl.
Now Kitty Bawn O'Brien's gone to far off Montreal.
I followed her to Waterford the day the ship set sail.
Her mother let the teardrops fall. Her father's face was pale.
I kissed her ere I lost her there, and sorely I recall,
My Kitty Bawn O'Brien's gone to far off Montreal.
And far across the ocean wide, a world from Knockmealdown,
My Kitty shines like silver in some gold Canadian town.
She'll charm some young French soldier there; to blame him I've no call.
My Kitty Bawn O'Brien's gone to far off Montreal.
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