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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 463 |
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Five guineas would price every tress of her golden
hair — Then think what a treasure her pillow at night to
share ! These tresses thick-clust'ring and curling around her
brow — O Ringlet of Fairness ! I'll drink to thy beauty now ! |
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When, seeking to slumber, my bosom is rent with
sighs — I toss on my pillow till morning's blest beams arise; No aid, bright beloved! can reach me save God
above, For a blood-lake is formed of the light of my eyes with
love ! |
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Until yellow autumn shall usher the Paschal day, And Patrick's gay festival come in its train alway — Until through my coffin the blossoming boughs shall
grow, My love on another I'll never in life bestow !
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Lo I yonder the maiden illustrious, queen-like, high, With long-flowing tresses adown to her sandal-tie — Swan, fair as the lily, descended of high degree, A myriad of welcomes, dear maid of my heart, to thee ! |
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