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THE GROVES OF BLARNEY.
The groves of Blarney, they look so charming,
All by the purling of sweet, silent streams, Being bank'd with posies that spontaneous grow there,
Planted in order by the sweet rock close : 'Tis there the daisy and the sweet carnation,
The blooming pink and the rose so fair; The daffy-down-dilly, beside the lily,
Flowers that scent the sweet, fragrant air.
'Tis Lady Jeffreys that owns this station,
Like Alexander or Queen Helen fair, There's no commander throughout the nation,
For emulation can with her compare : She has castles round her that no nine-pounder
Could dare to plunder her place of strength ; But Oliver Cromwell, he did her pummel,
And made a breach in her battlement.
There's gravel walks there for speculation, And conversation in sweet solitude;
:Tis there the lover may hear the dove, or The gentle plover in the afternoon;
And if a young lady should be so engaging As to walk alone in those shady bow'rs,
Tis there her courtier he may transport her
For 'tis there's the cave where no daylight enters,
But bats and badgers are for ever bred; Being moss'd by nature that makes it sweeter
Than a coach-and-six, or a feather bed ; 'Tis there's the lake that is stor'd with perches*
And comely eels in the verdant mud, Beside the leeches and the groves of beeches,
All standing in order to guard the flood.
'Tis there's the kitchen hangs many a flitch in,
With the maids a stitching on the stair; The bread and biske', the beer and whiskey,
Would make you frisky, if you were there; 'Tis there you'd see Peg Murphy's daughter*
A washing pratees, forenent the door, With Roger Cleary, and Father Healy,
All blood relations to Lord Donoughmore.
There's statues gracing this noble place in,
All heathen goddesses so fair ; Bold Neptune, Plutarch, and Nicodemus,
All standing naked in the open air. So now to finish this brave narration,
Which my poor geni could not entwine, But were I Homer, or Nebuchadnezzar,
'Tis in ev'ry feature I would make it shine.
In some dark fort or underground.