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216 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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You said you loved me, Molly dear !
Ah ? why did I believe ! Yet who could think such tender words
Were meant but to deceive ? That love was all I asked on earth —
Nay, Heaven could give no more. Ah ! Grddh mo chroidhe, etc.
0 had I all the flocks that graze On yonder yellow hill,
Or lowed for me the numerous herds
That yon green pasture fill — With her I love I'd gladly share
My kine and fleecy store. Ah ! Grddh mo chroidho, etc.
Two turtle-doves, above my head, Sat courting on a bough;
1 envied them their happiness,
To see them bill and coo. Such fondness once for me was shown,
But now, alas ! 'tis o'er. Ah ! Grddh mo chroidhe, etc.
Then fare thee well, my Molly dear !
Thy loss I e'er shall moan; Whilst life remains in my poor heart,
'Twill beat for thee alone : Though thou art false, may Heaven on thee
Its choicest blessings pour. Ah ! Grddh mo chroidhe, mo cailin og,
'Si Mailligh mo stoir. |
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