The moon was bright, the night was clear, no breeze came over the sea
When Mary left her highland home and wandered forth with me.
The flowers bedecked the mountainside and fragrance filled the vale,
But by far the sweetest flower there was the Rose of Allendale.
Oh the Rose of Allendale, sweet Rose of Allendale
By far the sweetest flower there was the Rose of Allendale
Where e'er I wandered east or west, though fate began to lour,
A solace still to me was she, in sorrows lonely hour.
When tempests lashed our gallant barque and rent her quivering sails,
One maidens form withstood the storm, twas the Rose of Allendale.
Oh the Rose of Allendale, sweet Rose of Allendale
One maidens form withstood the storm, twas the Rose of Allendale.
And when my fevered lips were parched on Afric's burning sands,
She whispered hopes of happiness and tales of distant lands.
My life has been a wilderness unblest by fortunes gale;
Had fate not linked my love to hers, the Rose of Allendale
Oh the Rose of Allendale, sweet Rose of Allendale
Had fate not linked my love to hers, the Rose of Allendale