I hear a bird, London-derry bird.
It well may be he's bringing me a cheering word.
I hear a breeze, a River Shannon breeze.
It may well be it's followed me across the seas.
Then tell me please
Verse
How are things in Glocca Morra?
Is that little brook still leaping there?
Does it still run down through Donny Cove?
Through Killybegs? Killkerry and Kildare?
How are things in Glocca Morra?
Is that willow tree still weeping there?
Does that lassie with the twinkling eye come smiling by
and does she walk away sad and dreamy there not to see me there.
So I ask each weeping willow and each brook along the way,
And each lass that comes a-whistling to relay,
How are things in Glocca Morra this fine day?