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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
169 |
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HAVE YOU BEEN AT CARRICK?
Have you been at Carrick, and saw you my true love there? And saw you her features all beautiful, bright and fair? Saw you the most fragrant flow'ring sweet apple tree; Oh! saw you my lov'd one—and pines she in grief like me? Oh! I've been at Carrick, and saw thy own true love there, And saw, too, her features ail beautiful, bright and fair; And saw the most fragrant flow'ring sweet apple tree; Oh! I saw thy lov'd one—she pines not in grief, like thee! When seeking to slumber my bosom is rent with sighs, I toss on my piliow till morning's blest beams arise; No aid, bright beloved! can reach me save God above, For a blood lake1 is form'd of the light of my eyes with love! Lo! yonder the maiden, illustrious, queen-like, high, With iong flowing tresses a-down to her sandal tie— Swan, fair as the iiiy, descended of high degree, A myriad of welcomes, dear maid of my heart, to thee! |
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HE CAME FROM THE NORTH.
He came from the North and his words were few. But his voice was kiud and his heart was true; And T knew by his eyes no guiie had he. So I married the man of the North Countrie. Oh, Garryowen may be more gay Than this quiet street of Ballibay; And I know the sun shines softly down On the river that passes my native town. But there's not—I say it with joy and pride-Better man than mine in Munster wide; And Limerick Town has no happier hearth Than mine has been with my man of the North. I wish that In Munster they only knew The kind, kind neighbors I came unto; Small hate or scorn wouid ever be Between the South and the North Countrie. . |
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HUSH, BABY MINE.
■ Hush, baby mine, and weep no more, Each gem thy regal fathers wore When Erin, Emerald Isle, was free. Thy poet sire bequeaths to thee! CHORUS.—Hush! baby dear, and weep no more; Hush, baby mine, my treasur'd store; My heart-wrung sigh, my grief, my groan, Thy tearful eye, thy hunger's moan! The steed of goiden housings rare, Bestrode by glorious Faivey Fair, The chief who at the Boyne did shroud In bloody wave the sea kings proud—
Hush! baby dear, etc. Brian's golden-hiited sword of light, Tbat flash'd despair on foeman's flight; And Murcha's fierce, far-shooting bow That at Clontarf laid heroes low.
Hush! baby dear, etc. And dainty rich and beoir I'll bring. And raiment meet for chief and king; But gift and song shall yield to joy— Thy mother comes to greet her boy!
Hush! baby dear, etc. |
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