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HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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0! THE MARRIAGE.
O! the marriage, the marriage,
With love and mo buachail for me, The ladies that ride in a carriage
Might envy my marriage to me; For Owen is straight as a tower,
And tender and loving and true, He told me more love in an hour
Than the squires of the county could do. Then, O! the marriage, the marriage,
With love and mo buachail for me, The ladies that ride In a carriage Might envy my marriage to me. His hair is a shower of soft gold.
His eye is as clear as the day, His conscience aud vote were unsold
When others were carried away; His word is as good as an oath,
And freely 'twas given to me; 0! sure 'twill be happy for both
The day of our marriage to see.
Then, O! the marriage, etc. His kinsmen are honest and kind,
The neighbors think much of his skill, And Owen's the lad to my mind,
Though he owns neither castle nor mill. But he has a tilloch of land,
A horse, and a stocking of coin, A foot for the dance, and a hand
In the cause of his country to join. Then, O! the marriage, etc. We meet in the market and fair—
We meet in the morning and night— He sits on the half of my chair.
And my people are wild with delight. Yet I long through the winter to skim,
Though Owen longs more I can see, When I will be married to him.
And he will be married to me.
Then, O! the marriage, etc. |
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LOVE-DREAMS.
I dreamed that my love was a milk-white doe,
That ranged the forest wide; And I was a dappled mountain roe,
That bounded by her side; Our home was the wild wood's lonely glade.
Where hunters there were none; We danced on the harebell and couched In the shade,
And we loved and lived alone. I dreamed that my love was a beautiful bird,
And I her tuneful mate; And the livelong day my song was heard,
So wild, so passionate. And still when winter deformed the time,
We bent our course o'er the sea; And we built our nest in a lovelier clime,
'Mid the blooms of the orange tree. I dreamed that my love was the fairy Queen,
And I an Elfin knight. That mixed with her train when she danced on the green,
Beneath the mild moonlight And, 0! it was merry in Fairyland—
There's nothing on earth so sweet As the music and mirth of the spirit band,
And the twinkling of fairy feet. |
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