His hair was as black as the shadows of night,
And it hung over scars got in many a fight. 
And his voice, like the thunder, was deep, strong, and loud,
And his eye flashed like lightning from under a cloud,—­
And there wasn’t a girl from thirty-five under,
Sorra matter how cross, but he could come round her;
But of all whom he smiled on so sweetly, but one
Was the girl of his heart, and he loved her alone. 
As warm as the sun, as the rock firm and sure,
Was the love of the heart of young Phadrig Crohoore. 
He would die for a smile from his Kathleen O’Brien,
For his love, like his hatred, was strong as a lion.

But one Michael O’Hanlon loved Kathleen as well
As he hated Crohoore—­and that same I can tell. 
And O’Brien liked him, for they were all the same parties—­
The O’Hanlons, O’Briens, O’Ryans, M’Carthies;
And they all went together in hating Crohoore,
For many’s the bating he gave them before. 
So O’Hanlon makes up to O’Brien, and says he: 
“I’ll marry your daughter if you’ll give her to me.”

So the match was made up, and when Shrovetide came on
The company assembled—­three hundred if one! 
The O’Hanlon’s, of course, turned out strong on that day,
And the pipers and fiddlers were tearing away;
There was laughing, and roaring, and jigging, and flinging,
And joking and blessing, and kissing and singing,
And they were all merry; why not, to be sure,
That O’Hanlon got inside of Phadrig Crohoore;
And they all talked and laughed, the length of the table,
Aiting and drinking while they were able—­
With the piping and fiddling, and roaring like thunder,
Och! you’d think your head fairly was splitting asunder;
And the priest shouted, “Silence, ye blabblers, agin,”
And he took up his prayer-book and was going to begin,
And they all held their funning, and jigging, and bawling,
So silent, you’d notice the smallest pin falling;
And the priest was beginning to read, when the door
Was flung back to the wall, and in walked Crohoore.

Oh!  Phadrig Crohoore was a broth of a boy,
            And he stood six feet eight;
His arm was as big as another man’s thigh,—­
            ’Tis Phadrig was great.

As he walked slowly up, watched by many a bright eye,
As a dark cloud moves on through the stars in the sky—­
None dared to oppose him, for Phadrig was great,
Till he stood, all alone, just in front of the seat
Where O’Hanlon and Kathleen, his beautiful bride,
Were seated together, the two side by side. 
He looked on Kathleen till her poor heart near broke,
Then he turned to her father, O’Brien, and spoke,
And his voice, like the thunder, was deep, strong, and loud,
And his eyes flashed like lightning from under a cloud: