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9o |
THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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A scene so grand, God's good right hand It ne'er reached from on high, As Inver Bay on a harvest day, And the sun goin' down the sky.
O'er Norroway it's give me sway,
With a palace wide and broad,
With silks and wine and jewels fine,
And hundreds at my nod —
In robes all gay, with golden spray
It's dhress me you might do;
But I'd loathe your wine, your jewels fine,
Your gold and your kingdom too;
For a ragged coat, in Donal's boat,
It's I'd lament and sigh,
And Inver Bay of a harvest day,
With the sun goin' down the sky.
Our bravest sons, our stoutest ones
Have rushed across the say,
And God He knows each wind that blows
Is waftin' more away !
It's sore distress does them hard press,
They dhrop their heads and go —
Oh, Sorrow's Queen, it's you has seen
Their hearts big swelled with woe !
Though gold they make, their hearts they break,
And they sit them down and cry,
For Inver Bay on a harvest day,
And the sun goin' down the sky;
Oh ! Inver Bay on a harvest day,
And the sun goin' down the sky;
When with many's the laugh the boats put off,
And many's the merry cry ! |
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