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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 205 |
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JOHN FRANCIS O'DONNELL
(1837-1874)
A SPINNING SONG
M
Y love to fight the Saxon goes, And bravely shines his sword of steel; A heron's feather decks his brows, And a spur on either heel; His steed is blacker than the sloe, And fleeter than the falling star; Amid the surging ranks he'll go And shout for joy of war.
Twinkle, twinkle, pretty spindle; let the white wool drift and dwindle. Oh ! we weave a damask doublet for my lover's coat of steel. Hark ! the timid, turning treadle crooning soft, old-fashioned ditties To the low, slow murmur of the brown round wheel.
My love is pledged to Ireland's fight;
My love would die for Ireland's weal, To win her back her ancient right,
And make her foemen reel. Oh ! close I'll clasp him to my breast
When homeward from the war he comes; The fires shall light the mountain's crest,
The valley peal with drums. |
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