| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
424 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
||
|
In beauteous Spring, when the warblers sing,
And their carols ring through each fragrant grove; Bright Sol did shine, which made me incline
By the river Boyne for to go to rove, I was ruminating and meditating
And contemplating as I paced the plain, When a charming fair, beyond compare,
Did my heart ensnare near the town of Slane.
Had Paris seen this young maid serene,
The Grecian queen he would soon disdain, And straight embrace this virgin chaste,
And peace would grace the whole Trojan plain. If Ancient Caesar could on her gaze, sir,
He'd stand amazed for to view this dame; Sweet Cleopatra he would freely part her,
And his crown he'd barter for the Star of Slane.
There's Alexander, that famed commander,
Whose triumphant standard it did conquer all, Who proved a victor over crowns and sceptres,
And great warlike structures did before him fall; Should he behold her, I will uphold, sir,
From pole to pole he would then proclaim, For the human race in all that wide space,
To respect the chaste blooming Star of Slane.
To praise her beauty then is my duty, But alas ! I'm footy' in this noble part,
And to my sorrow, sly Cupid's arrow
Full deep did burrow in my tender heart; |
||
|
Footy, poor, mean, insignificant. |
||
|
|
||