 | From the Hills of Dream |  |
21
St Bride's Warning.
An O, an' O, St Bride's sweet song 'tis I am hearing, dearie,
Dearie, dearie, dearie, my wee white babe that 's weary,
Weary, weary, weary, with this my womb sae weary,
And Bride's sweet song ye hear it too, and stir and sigh, my dearie!
Dearie, dearie, dearie, my wee white babe that 's weary,
Weary, weary, weary, with this my womb sae weary,
And Bride's sweet song ye hear it too, and stir and sigh, my dearie!
Oh, oh, lennavan-mo,
Wee hands that give me pain and woe:
Pain and woe, but be it so,
'Tis his dear self that now doth grow,
Lennavan-mo, lennavan-mo,
'Tis his dear self one day you 'll know,
Lennavan-mo, lennavan-mo!
Wee hands that give me pain and woe:
Pain and woe, but be it so,
'Tis his dear self that now doth grow,
Lennavan-mo, lennavan-mo,
'Tis his dear self one day you 'll know,
Lennavan-mo, lennavan-mo!
St Bridget dear, the cradle show,
My baby comes, and I must go,
Lennavan-mo, lennavan-mo!
Arone!...Arò!
Arone!...Arò!
My baby comes, and I must go,
Lennavan-mo, lennavan-mo!
Arone!...Arò!
Arone!...Arò!
| From the Hills of Dream | |