| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
186 |
HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
||
|
|
|||
|
THE WREN-BOYS' SONG. |
|||
|
|
|||
|
The wren, the wren, the king of all birds, Saint Stephen's Day was caught in a furze; Although he Is little his family's great; I pray you, good lady, give us a treat.
Chorus.—Sing hey! sing ho! Sing holy, sing holy!
A drop just to drink, it would cure melancholy.
Sing hey! sing ho! Sing holy sing holy!
A drop Just to drink, it would cure melancholy.
My box would speak if it had but a tongue, And two or three shillings would do it no wrong; So show us some pity in order that we May drink you good health for your kind charity. Sing hey! sing ho! etc.
And If you draw It of the best,
I hope in heaven your soul it may rest;
But if you draw it of the small,
It won't agree with the wren-boys at all!
Sing hey! sing ho! etc. |
|||
|
WELCOME AS FLOWERS IN MAY.
"So, Katty dear, you've told your mother
That I'm a rogue, by that and this, "We'll prove that same somehow or other,
So first of ail I'll steal a kiss." "Och! Terry dear, don't call it stealing,
A kiss you cannot take away, The loss of that I'd not be feeling—
You're welcome as the flowers In May."
"But, Katty dear, I'm growing bolder,
A great big thief I mean to start, And before I am an hour older
I'd like to steal away your heart." "Och Terry, don't you call it robbln',
My heart you've owned this many a day; But If you like to ease its throbbiu',
You're welcome as the flowers In May."
"But, Katty dear, I am not joking,
My wounded honor you must heal; I'll not be called such names for nothing,
Sure, it's yourself away I'd steal." "Och! Terry, that would be housebreaking,
But If my mother don't say nay, It's to Father Tom you may be spaking—
You're welcome as the flowers in May." |
|||
|
|
|||
|
AVONDHXT.
Oh, Avondhu, I wish I were
As once upon that mountain bare,
Where thy young waters laugh and shine
On the wild breast of Meenganine.
I wish I were by Cleada's hill,
Or by Glenruachra's rushy rill;
But no! I never more shall view
Those scenes I loved by Avoodhu. (
Farewell, ye soft and purple streaks Of evening on the beauteous Reeks; Farewell, ye mists, that loved to rid* On CahirbearnL'i stormy sida. |
|||