 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
FOR I HAD A SPIRIT ABOVE MY DEGREE
With the lark up above, the Lent lilies below,
Young Owen came courting, I could not say No!
But because I was poor and of humble degree,
His proud parents parted my Owen and me.
Young Owen came courting, I could not say No!
But because I was poor and of humble degree,
His proud parents parted my Owen and me.
Had he only stood firm. I'd have waited for years;
But Owen gave way; so I forced back my tears,
And wed Hugh O'Donnell, long hopeless of me,
For I had a spirit above my degree.
But Owen gave way; so I forced back my tears,
And wed Hugh O'Donnell, long hopeless of me,
For I had a spirit above my degree.
But the sweet old croonawns evermore, evermore,
Owen whistled and sang as he went by our door;
Yet I never looked out my old sweetheart to see;
For I had a spirit above my degree.
Owen whistled and sang as he went by our door;
Yet I never looked out my old sweetheart to see;
For I had a spirit above my degree.
For comfort, for comfort, I cried and I prayed,
Even while my sweet babe in my bosom was laid;
But when in my face he laughed up from my knee,
Sweet comfort, sweet comfort it came back to me.
Even while my sweet babe in my bosom was laid;
But when in my face he laughed up from my knee,
Sweet comfort, sweet comfort it came back to me.
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Till one day to a knock when I pushed back the pin,
All dressed in his best, my poor Owen ran in,
And “Oonagh, make haste, dear, make haste, dear,” cried he,
“For the chapel's full up our fine wedding to see.”
All dressed in his best, my poor Owen ran in,
And “Oonagh, make haste, dear, make haste, dear,” cried he,
“For the chapel's full up our fine wedding to see.”
I looked in his eyes and I saw they were wild,
With the sweet old croonawns his mood I beguiled,
Till his heart-broken father came over the lea
With the keepers and took him still crying for me.
With the sweet old croonawns his mood I beguiled,
Till his heart-broken father came over the lea
With the keepers and took him still crying for me.
My good man is gone, but God has been kind;
My sons they are steady, my girls of my mind;
My prayers for my lost ones rise fervent and free,
And between their two graves there's one waiting for me.
My sons they are steady, my girls of my mind;
My prayers for my lost ones rise fervent and free,
And between their two graves there's one waiting for me.
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |