Through shady groves and valleys and streams as I passed by
The small birds they sat mourning on each green shady grove
They joined their notes with that youth lamenting for his love.
He tore his hair distracted oft times his hands he wrung
The tears ran down his rosy cheeks like a waterery stream
But still he cried my darling's gone the maid that I adore
By a sudden call to her long home - will I never see her more.
She was a proper sweet young girl scarce seventeen years of age
And in no riotous company was ever she engaged
Her comrade girl asked her out a-walking for to go
She took her to that fateful spot which proved her overthrow
It was on the twelfth day of July in the year of thirty-five
It ne'er shall be forgot by me as long as I'm alive
It was that day that very day my love was torn from me
She was the Rose of Belfast town and the flower of this country.
It was on the twelfth day of July orange arches we did form
And Harvey and his cavalry thought to cut them down by storm
But all their efforts were in vain for we would not comply
And as we advanced ''No Surrender'' was our cry.
When riding forth to cut them down we received a mortal blow
You know a stone from David's sling did lay Goliath low
Then the Light Infantry got an order to fire a round of ball
It was at that fatal moment my true love she did fall.
A ball it entered in her breast and pierced her body though
And gently fell and waved her hand she could not bid adieu
As I held her milk white hand in mine my heart being filled with woe
To see those lips I oftimes kissed,now whiter than the snow.
Annie Moore was my love's name of credit and renown
She the flower of Ulster and the Rose of Belfast town
The Protestant cause she dearly loved - William's sons she did adore
And round her neck even to the last an orange ribbon wore.
The Protestants of Belfast turned out like heroes brave
To carry her remains to the cold and silent grave
And many of those heroes that day in tears were found
At the leaving of her residence convenient to the town.
Her dear friends and relations their lost one they now deplore
Likewise her comrade girl goes a-walking round the shore
Their many hearts are merry while my poor heart is dry
For it makes me sigh when I think of that twelfth day of July.