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CELTIC POETRY. |
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Or the blackbird in the greenwood singing Farewell to the setting sun.
Eise up, my boy, make ready
My horse, for I forth would ride, To follow the modest damsel,
Where she walks on the green hillside. For, ever since our youth were we plighted,
In faith, troth, and wedlock true — She is sweeter to me nine times over
Than organ or cuckoo !
For, ever since my childhood
I loved the fair and darling child ; But our people came between us,
And with lucre our pure love defiled ; Oh, my woe it is, and my bitter pain,
And I weep it night and day, That the cooleen hawn of my early love
Is torn from my heart away.
Sweetheart and faithful treasure,
Be constant still, and true, Nor for want of herds and houses
Leave one who would ne'er leave you ; I pledge you the blessed Bible,
Without and eke within, That the faithful God will provide for us,
Without thanks to kith or kin.
Oh, love, do you remember,
When we lay all night alone, Beneath the ash in the winter-storm,
When the oak-wood round did groan ? |
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