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THE FARMER'S BOY 103
In the country o'er the mountains the rough
roads straggle down, There's many a long and weary mile 'twixt
there and Glenties town ; I went to be a farmer's boy, to work the season
through, From Whitsuntide to Hallowe'en, which time
the rent came due
When virgin pure, the dawn's white arm stole
o'er my mother's door, From Glenties town I took the road I never
trod before; Come Lammas tide I would not see the trout
in Greenan's Burn, And Hallowe'en might come and go, but I
would not return. |
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