Copyright, 1885, by T. B. Harms & Co.
Written and sung by Wm. J. Scanlan.
There's a cottage in the glen,
You can see while passing by;
In that cottage dwells a maid,
Bo modest And so shy;
Her cheeks are filled with roses
Her eyes with glances true;
And every time I meet her,
My eyes are filled with dew
Tis not the dew of sorrow,
Nor the cold dew of regret;
Bit tears of joy, which say to me,
We will be happy yet!
Though I've not asked the question.
Of one gem I feel sure;
Who's more to me than all the world.
My own sweet Peggy O'Moore.
Peggy O'Moore, Peggy O'Moore,
My own little darling, the one I adore;
There's none half so charming, more chaste or more pure,
Than my own little darling, sweet Peggy O'Moore.
When first I met my love,
She was strolling through the flowers;
No lives more content,
I've learned since then, than ours;
My heart it throbbed with pleasure,
When first our eyes they met;
How beautiful, how chaste she looked,
I never can forget.
The roses paled beside the tint,
That lay upon her cheek;
The air was filled with rosy balm,
I feared I could not speak;
I felt that I was dreaming,
A dream of untold bliss;
So ruby like her pretty lips,
To live was but to kiss.-Chorus.