 | Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover |  |
BETWEEN MY SLEEVE AND ME.
My Katty, sweet enslaver,
'Twas loth I was to lave her,
I made my best endeavour to keep my courage high;
But when she softly spoke me
I thought the grief would choke me,
For pride it would revoke the tear was rising to my eye;
But, as the grief grew stronger,
I dared not linger longer,
One kiss!—sure 'twas not wrong before I rush'd away to sea;
No one could then discover
The weakness of the lover,
And, if my grief ran over—'twas between my sleeve and me.
'Twas loth I was to lave her,
I made my best endeavour to keep my courage high;
But when she softly spoke me
I thought the grief would choke me,
For pride it would revoke the tear was rising to my eye;
But, as the grief grew stronger,
I dared not linger longer,
One kiss!—sure 'twas not wrong before I rush'd away to sea;
No one could then discover
The weakness of the lover,
And, if my grief ran over—'twas between my sleeve and me.
Oh! 'twould be hard believing
How fond hearts may be grieving
When taking or when giving merry jokes with comrades gay,
While deeper thoughts are straying,
Some distant land away in,
Like wand'ring pilgrims praying at some shrine that's far away.
When merry cups are ringing,
I join the round of singing,
To help the joyous winging of the sportive evening's glee;
But when the mirth is over,
My sadness none discover,
For, if my grief runs over—'tis between my sleeve and me.
How fond hearts may be grieving
When taking or when giving merry jokes with comrades gay,
While deeper thoughts are straying,
Some distant land away in,
Like wand'ring pilgrims praying at some shrine that's far away.
143
I join the round of singing,
To help the joyous winging of the sportive evening's glee;
But when the mirth is over,
My sadness none discover,
For, if my grief runs over—'tis between my sleeve and me.
| Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover | |