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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 25 |
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Widow Machree, and when winter comes in,
Och hone ! Widow Machree,
To be poking the fire all alone is a sin,
Och hone ! Widow Machree.
Sure the shovel and tongs
To each other belongs,
While the kettle sings songs
Full of family glee !
Yet alone with your cup,
Like a hermit you sup, Och hone ! Widow Machree.
And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld,
Och hone ! Widow Machree, But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld ? Och hone ! Widow Machree.
With such sins on your head
Sure your peace would be fled,
Could you sleep in your bed
Without thinking to see
Some ghost or some sprite
That would wake you at night, Crying, " Och hone ! Widow Machree ! "
Then take my advice, darling Widow Machree,
Och hone ! Widow Machree. And, with ray advice, faith, I wish you'd take me, Och hone ! Widow Machree !
You'd have me to desire
Then to stir up the fire ;
And sure Hope is no liar
In whisp'ring to me
That the ghosts would depart
When you'd me near your heart, Och hone ! Widow Machree ! |
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