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Bog-land Studies

By J. Barlow: 3rd ed
Barlow, Jane (1857?-1917)

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TH' OULD MASTER
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WALLED OUT
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LAST TIME AT M'GURK'S
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BY THE BOG-HOLE
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PAST PRAYING FOR OR, THE SOUPER'S WIDOW
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MISS HONOR'S WEDDING
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A CURLEW'S CALL

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XI

I'd ne'er ha' thought Patsy'd say that; an' he didn't belike—I dunno—
But it's on'y the truth if he did. A burthen? Bedad, I'm so.
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An' Pat, that's a rale good son, and has been all the days of his life,
It's the quare thanks I'm givin' him now, to be starvin' the childher and wife.
For I often considher a sayin' we have: ‘Whin it's little ye've got,
It's the hunger ye'll find at the botthom, if many dip spoons in your pot.’
But if wanst they were shut o' meself, an' the Agint 'ud wait for a bit,
They might weather the worst o' the throuble, an' keep the ould roof o'er thim yit.
But suppose they're put out afther all, an' packed off to the divil knows where,
An' I up away in the House, I might never so happin to hear;
An' I'd liefer not know it for certin. Och! to think the ould place was a roon,
Wid nought left save the rims o' four walls, that the weeds'ud be coverin' soon;
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An' the bastes o' the field walkin' in; an' the hole where the hearth was filled
Wid the briers; an' no thrace o' the shed that I helped me poor father to build,
An' I but a slip of a lad, an' that plased to be handlin' the tools,
I 'most hammered the head off each nail that I dhruv. Och, it's boys that are fools.
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