 | Ballads of Irish chivalry |  |
204
THIS MAID OF MINE.
I
My Mary is not wondrous fairAs other maidens are,
Yet she's to me a jewel rare,
A clear bright shining star;
No glorious form that can surprise,
No Grecian face divine—
The beauty of her soul-bright eyes
That marks this maid of mine.
II
No vain pursuit, no idle thought,No art its charm bestows;
No smiles with honeyed treachery fraught
My darling true-love knows;
A bashful mien, a modest face,
Where sunny health doth shine,
A form of sweet and simple grace
That mark this maid of mine.
III
She dwells not in the lordly hallsWhere fashion loves to blaze,
But where the rocks like giant walls
And hills their green sides raise;
And there no guile her heart has known,
No proud charms false and fine—
There trusting love for me alone
That marks this maid of mine.
| Ballads of Irish chivalry | |