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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
39 |
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He.—Love, my Mary, ue'er can roam,
While he makes that eye his home. She.—No, the eye with sorrow dim. Ne'er can be a home for him. Both.—Yet 'tis not In beaming eyes, Love forever warmest lies; In my heart his home thou'lt see— There he lives, and lives for thee I |
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KATIE O'RYAN.
On the banks of the Shannon, In darling old Ireland,
Dwells a fair damsel, she's soon to he mine, She's a darling young creature and lovely In feature,
I ne'er can forget her! dear Katie O'Ryan. She's as fair as the dawn of the morning while beaming,
Her eyes soft, her lips like the ruby red wine, Oh! she's the dear little shamrock, I'm constantly dreaming
Of my own darling Katie, dear Katie O'Ryan. DHOBUS.—She's tho dear little shamrock, I'm constantly dreaming Of my own darling Katie, dear Katie O'Ryan. I now have rov'd far to a land call'd America,
A home, Katie dear, for the honest and true, My heart saddens tho' when I think that I am
So far away from old Ireland, and Katie, from you. The winter is on, but I heed not its cold, dear.
The spring will bring fiow'rs and joy to my heart, Oh! for it's nearing the time when I'll bring my love out here,
Then in this free country our new lives we'il start. She's the dear, etc. The fields here are green as they are in old Ireland,
And all have their freedom to do what is right; Ah! Katie, I've seen pretty girls by the thousand,
And I'm thinking of none hut you, darling, to-night. When the bright summer comes, I will hasten, sure, back again.
Take your soft tender hands gently in mine. Oh! I'll never more leave you, hut thro' life we'll wander;
Till death it will part me and Katie O'Ryan. She's the dear, etc. |
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A LONG FAREWELL I SEND TO THEE.
A long farewell I send to thee, Fair Maig of corn and fruit and tree, Of state and gift and gath'ring grand, Of song, romance and chieftain bland. Uch och fin! dark fortune's rigour. Wealth, title, bribe of glorious figure, Feast, gift, all gone, and gone my vigour, Since thus I wander lonely. Farewell to her to whom 'tis due. The fair skin, gentle, mild-llpp'd true, For whom exll'd o'er the hills I go, My heart's dear love, whate'er my woe, Uch och 6n! dark fortune's rigour— Wealth, title, bribe of glorious figure. Feast, gift, all gone, and gone my vigour, Since thus I wander lonely. Forc'd by the priests my love to See, Fair Maig thro' life I ne'er shall see; And must my beauteous hird forego, And all the sex that wrought me woe. Uch och fin! my grief, my ruin! 'Twas drinking deep and heauty wooing That caus'd thro' life my whole undoing And left me thus wand'rlng lonely. |
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