 | Irish Songs and Ballads |  |
63
THE REAPER'S REVENGE.
Often I dream of the day, asthore,
With secret sighs and laughter,
When you went reaping the oats before,
And I came gathering after.
And tenderly, tenderly with the corn
Looks of love you threw me;
Till I stood up with eyes of scorn
And withered your hopes to woo me.
With secret sighs and laughter,
When you went reaping the oats before,
And I came gathering after.
And tenderly, tenderly with the corn
Looks of love you threw me;
Till I stood up with eyes of scorn
And withered your hopes to woo me.
Often and often I'm dreaming still,
With tears and smiles together,
Of the month I stretched so weak and ill
In the wild and wintry weather.
While tenderly, tenderly, you would tap
To know the news of Nora;
Till I grew fonder of your rap
Than my father's voice, acora!
With tears and smiles together,
Of the month I stretched so weak and ill
In the wild and wintry weather.
While tenderly, tenderly, you would tap
To know the news of Nora;
Till I grew fonder of your rap
Than my father's voice, acora!
64
But most I remember the plan concealed
That through the spring amused you,
To watch till you found me in the field
Where in autumn I refused you,
Then earnestly, earnestly, in my eyes
To gaze, till I returned you
The look of looks and the sigh of sighs,
On the spot where once I spurned you.
That through the spring amused you,
To watch till you found me in the field
Where in autumn I refused you,
Then earnestly, earnestly, in my eyes
To gaze, till I returned you
The look of looks and the sigh of sighs,
On the spot where once I spurned you.
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