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HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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MARY OF THE CURLING HAIR.
My Mary of the curling hair, The laughing teeth and bashful air. Our bridai morn is dawning fair, With blushes In the skies. Shule! shule! shule! agra, Shule go sucur agus shule aroon! My love! my pearl! My own dear girl! My mountain maid, arise!
Wake, linnet of the osier grove! Wake, trembling, stainless, virgin dove! Wake, nes'ling of the parent's love! Let Moran see thine eyes. Shule, shule, &c.
I am no stranger, proud and gay, To win thee from thy home away. And find thee, for a distant day, A theme for wasting sighs. Shule, shule, &c.
But we were known from infancy: Thy father's hearth was home to me; No seifish love was mine for thee. Unholy and unwise.
Shule, shule, &c.
And yet (to see what love can do!) Though calm my hope has burned, and true, My cheek is pale and worn for you. And sunken are mine eyes! Shuie, shule, &c.
But soon my love shall be my bride, And happy by our own fire-side, My veins snail feel the rosy tide. That lingering hope denies. Shuie, shule, &c.
My Mary of the curling hair, The laughing teeth and bashful air. Our bridal morn Is dawning fair, With blushes in the skies. Shule, shule, &c. |
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THREE FISHERS WENT SAILING.
Three fishers went sailing out into the west, Out into the west as the sun went down,
Each thought on the woman who Iov'd him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town.
For men must work, and women must weep. And there's Iittie to earn and many to keep
Tbo' the harbor bar be moaning.
Three wives sat up in the light-house tow'r, And they trim'd the lamps as the sun went down,
They look'd at the squall, and they look'd at the show'r, And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown!
But men must work, and women must weep, Tho' storms be sudden and waters deep,
And the harbor bar be moaning.
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands, ,
In the morning gleam as the tide went down.
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands For those who will never come back to the town.
For men must work, and women must weep. And the sooner it's over the sooner to sleep,
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. |
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