[p 61]
AN IRISH LASS
My love has kissed me on the lips an’ sailed beyond the sea,
An’, sooth, that was a sorry day for Terrence an’ for me,
An’ yet I whispered him “God speed” his fortune for to win,
For there ’s little gold in Ireland save that upon the whin!
Like weary feet the days drag by; the heart o’ me is sad;
The keenin’ o’ the wind at night, it nearly drives me mad;
The cries o’ children in the street, they quaver lorn an’ thin,
For there ’s little gold in Ireland save that upon the whin!
But when my own lad comes again, ah, colleen, ’t will be sweet;
There ’ll be the peal o’ weddin’ bells across the fields o’ peat;
Faith, I can hear him sayin’ it, with his shy sort o’ grin,
“There ’s more gold now in Ireland than that upon the whin!”
[p 62]
THE BRIDGE OF LUCKEEN
One day as I stood at the Bridge of Luckeen,
Above the bright water all glancin’ an’ green,
There strayed down the path from the top of the pass
Such a slim little, prim little, trim little lass.
“Oho!” then quoth I, and “aha!” murmured she,
With as pretty a curtsy as ever you ’d see;
“Won’t you pause?” I inquired; “I don’t mind,” said her mien,
So we looked, side by side, from the Bridge of Luckeen.
How the minutes flew by, an’ the stream how it flowed,
While never a soul came along by the road;
An’ I thought her eyes sweeter than Maeve ever knew,
An’ she deemed me far bolder than Brian Boru!
There ’s a priest that ties knots, so the knowin’ ones say,
In a neat little church in the town of Glenbeigh;
[p 63]
If he ’ll tie just one more, I ’ll be thinkin’, I ween,
If he ’ll tie just one more, I ’ll be thinkin’, I ween,
If there ’s luck anywhere, there is luck at Luckeen!
[p 64]
DONEGAL
We made Donegal in the teeth of gray weather,
We made Donegal with the wind blowing free,
And the spindrift at toss like a snowy gull’s feather
Where the highlands lean down to the lips of the sea.
We left Donegal in the azure blue weather,
We left Donegal with a soft breeze a-lee,
With bees in the broom and the sun on the heather,
And scarcely a ripple astir on the sea.
But give me to come in the teeth of gray weather,
Oh, give me to come with the wind blowing free,
And love’s arms to clasp in their welcoming tether
A wanderer worn with the toils of the sea!
For ’t is sorrow to go in the azure blue weather,
’T is sorrow to go with a soft breeze a-lee,
[p 65]
Leaving love’s yearning arms where one fain would find tether,
Leaving love’s yearning arms where one fain would find tether,
Watching dear Donegal sinking down in the sea!
[p 66]
AN IRISH SONG
Over me lifts the peat-reek
That parts and drifts and veers,
And the wind’s uneasy moaning
Is loud about mine ears.
The waves upon the shingle
They murmur drearily,
And the streamers of the fog-wraith
Drive in from the open sea.
The mist hangs over the passes,
The mist hangs over the moors,
And the eerie cry of the curlew
It quavers and endures.
And it all is lonely, lonely,
And there ’s sorrow on every face,
But the heart of me needs must love it,
For the land is mine own place!
[p 67]
TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OF
THIS BOOK PRINTED ON VAN GELDER
HAND-MADE PAPER AND THE TYPE
DISTRIBUTED IN THE MONTH OF
MARCH MDCCCCXIV
Transcriber’s Note
The original book printed contractions (as opposed to elisions) with a spaced apostrophe: this has been retained.