The Lass of Aughrim traditional, arr. Susan McKeown If you’ll be the lass of Aughrim As I take it you mean to be Tell me the first token That passed between you and me O don’t you remember That night on yon lean hill When we were together Which I’m sorry now to tell The rain falls on my heavy locks And the dew wets my skin; My babe lies cold within my arms; But none will let me in