| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
179 |
HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
||
|
|
|||
|
HER HAIR WAS LIKE THE BEATEN GOLD.
Her hair was like the beaten gold, or like the spicier spinning; It was in her you might behold my joya and woes beginning. Her eyes were like- the diamond bright, her form was like the fairy. That flits across the woods at night, and such was gentle Mary. The dewy azure of her eyes was like a sunbeam glancing; it tbrlll'd my soul with tender love to see her smile entrancing. Alas! inconstant as the breeze that kisses ev'ry, ev'ry flower, She frowned on me, and now I dare not e'en approach her bower.
Flee, flee up, my bonny grey cock And craw when it is day;
Your neck shall be like the bonny beaten gold, And your wings of the silver grey. |
|||
|
|
|||
|
LAMENT FOR IRELAND.
How dlmm'd is the glory that circled the Gael, And fallen the high people of green Innisfail! The sword of the Saxon Is red with their gore. And the mighty of nations is mighty no more! Oh! where is the beauty that beam'd on thy brow? Strong hand In the battle, how weak art thou now! That heart is now broken that never would quail, And thy songs are now turn'd into weeping and wail. We know not our country, so strange is her face; Her sons, once her glory, are now in disgrace; Gone, gone Is the beauty of fair Innisfail, For the stranger now rules in the land of the Gael. |
|||
|
|
|||
|
DRAHERIN 0 MACHREE.
I grieve when I think on the dear happy days of youth, When all the bright dreams of this faithless world seem'd truth; When I stray'd through the woodland, as gay as a midsummer bee, In brotherly love with my Draherin O Machree!
Together we lay In the sweet-scented meadows to rest. Together we watched the gay lark as he sung o'er his nest. Together we piuck'd the red fruit of the fragrant haw-tree, And I lov'd as a sweetheart my Draherin O Machree!
Oh! sweet were his words as the honey that falls in the night,
And his young smiling face like the May-bloom was fresh and as bright;
His eyes were like dew on the flow'r of the sweet apple tree;
My heart's spring and summer was Draherin O Machree!
He went to the wars when proud England united with France; His regiment was first in the red battle charge to advance; But when night drew its veil o'er the gory and life-wasting fray. Pale, bleeding and cold lay my Draherin O Machree!
Now I'm left to weep like the sorrowful bird of the night. This earth and its pleasures no more shall afford me delight; The dark narrow grave is the only sad rfefuge for me, Since I lost my heart's darling—my Draherin O Machree'. |
|||
|
|
|||
|
MY LOVE SHE WAS BORN.
My love she was born in the north countrie Where hills and lofty mountains rise up from the sea; She's the fairest young maiden that e'er I did see, She exceeds all the maidens In the north countric.
My love is as sweet as the cinnamon tree; She clings to me close as the bark to the tree; But the leaves they will wither, the roots will decay, And fair maidens' beauty will soon fade away. |
|||