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SONGS AND BALLADS

THE LITTLE RED LARK.

Oh, swan of slenderness,
Dove of tenderness,
Jewel of joys, arise!
The little red lark
Like a rosy spark
Of song to his sunburst flies.
But till thou art risen
Earth is a prison
Full of my lonesome sighs;
Then awake and discover
To thy fond lover
The morn of thy matchless eyes.
The dawn is dark to me
Hark! oh, hark to me,
Pulse of my heart, I pray!
And out of thy hiding
With blushes gliding,
Dazzle me with thy day.
4

Ah, then, once more to thee
Flying I'll pour to thee
Passion so sweet and gay,
The lark shall listen,
And dewdrops glisten,
Laughing on every spray.
5

THE BANKS OF THE DAISIES.

When first I saw young Molly
Stretched beneath the holly,
Fast asleep, forenint her sheep, one dreamy summer's day,
With daisies laughing round her,
Hand and foot I bound her,
Then kissed her on her blooming cheek, and softly stole away.
But, as with blushes burning
Tip-toe I was turning,
From sleep she starts, and on me darts a dreadful lightning ray;
My foolish flowery fetters
Scornfully she scatters,
And like a winter sunbeam she coldly sweeps away.
But Love, young Love, comes stooping
O'er my daisies drooping,
And oh! each flower with fairy power the rosy boy renews;
Then twines each charming cluster
In links of starry lustre,
And with the chain enchanting my colleen proud pursues.
8

And soon I met young Molly
Musing melancholy,
With downcast eyes and starting sighs, along the meadow bank;
And oh! her swelling bosom
Was wreathed with daisy blossom,
Like stars in summer heaven, as in my arms she sank.
9

THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.

The route has come, we march away,
Our colours dance before us,
But sorrow's cloud made dark the day
That from our sweethearts tore us;
My own dear lass she sobbed “adieu,”
Her loving arms entwined me,
And oft she prayed me to be true
To the girl I left behind me.
Yes! I'll be true; when steel to steel
The ranks of war are rolling,
And round us every cannon peal
A funeral knell is tolling;
Then if from out the battle flame
A fatal ball should find me,
My dying lips shall bless the name
Of the girl I left behind me.
19

But, if in triumph I return
To tell a soldier's story,
Though proudly on my breast should burn
The golden cross of glory,
No other maid with magic art
Shall break the links that bind me
For ever to the faithful heart
Of the girl I left behind me.
20

'TIS I CAN WEAVE WOOLLEN AND LINEN.

'Tis I can weave woollen and linen,
The finest folk wear on their backs;
So, girls, come give over your spinnin',
And wind off your wool and your flax!
Five year at my woollen and linen
I've woven from mornin' to night,
With a heart that beat heavy beginnin',
But is leapin' for ever more light.
For with guineas full up is the stockin',
Sewed safe in the tick of my bed,
And 'tis soon that I'll rest without rockin',
Since at Shrove with my Willy I'll wed.
23

WHEN I ROSE IN THE MORNING.

When I rose in the morning,
My heart full of woe,
I implored all the song birds
Why their mates on the bough
To their pleading gave heeding,
While Kate still said “No;”
But they made no kind answer
To a heart full of woe.
Till the wood-quest at noon.
From the forest below,
He taught me his secret
So tender and low
Of stealing fond feeling
With sweet notes of woe,
Coo-cooing so soft
Through the green leafy row.
26

The long shadows fell,
And the sun he sank low,
And again I was pleading
In the mild evening glow:
“Ah! Kitty, have pity!”
Then how could she say “No.”
So for ever I'm free
From a heart full of woe.
27

'TIS A PITY I CAN'T SEE MY LOVE.

On his flute of gold the blackbird bold
Love's tale to his melting mate has told,
And now the thieves have started;
And o'er the ground, in fluttering round,
Enamoured fly, whilst you and I
In lonesome pain are parted.
But when hearts beat true through the night of sorrow,
They're blest the more when the magic morrow
Its rosy ray has darted.
Fortune may wave her wings and fly,
But she'll flutter back again by and by,
And crown the constant-hearted.
These birds that pair in the April air
Forget their faith on the branches bare,
By autumn blasts affrighted,
And to fresh loves sing with the start of spring;
When you and I with a golden ring
In joy shall be united.
31

For when hearts beat true through the night of sorrow,
They're blest the most when the marriage morrow
Its lamp of love has lighted.
Fortune may wave her wings and fly,
But she'll flutter back to us by and by,
And crown the troth we've plighted.
32

WITH THE NORTH.

With lip contemptuous curling,
She cried, “Is freedom's flag above
Fold on fold unfurling,
And Patrick pleading love?
Oh! yes, when patriots hand in hand
Unite to free their foster-land
From slavery's accursed band,
What true man woos a woman?
Then with my bitter scorning
Go, live dishonoured, die a slave,
Or march to-morrow morning
To battle with the brave.”
“We'll steal a march on sorrow,”
Our Captain sighed, a soldier grey,
“Sound the drum to-morrow
Before the dawn of day.”
33

But ere the drum's first muffled beat
The women crowded down the street,
How many never more to meet
Their death-devoted heroes.
Then as I passed her dwelling,
My proud one o'er her casement frame,
The sobs her bosom swelling,
Leant forth and sighed my name.
Oh! have you seen Atlantic
Advance his green, resistless line
Against the cliffs gigantic,
And bury them in brine?
Thus on our stubborn foe we fell,
Death's lightning darting from our steel,
Whilst round us every cannon peal
A hero's requiem thundered!
And still with forward faces
Went down in death our dauntless men.
And still into their places
As gallant hearts stepped in.
Till to a sunburst glorious,
That all the field of battle fired,
34

Before our van victorious
The sullen South retired.
Then peace returned, and from the war
Our banner bright with many a star
'Twas mine to flutter from afar
In triumph to our city;
Till I at last could wreathe it
Around my true love's throbbing heart,
And we two kissed beneath it,
Oh! never more to part.
35

THE SMITH'S SONG.

“Ding dong, didilium! the big sledge is swinging,
Ding dong, didilium! the little hammer's ringing,
Ding dong, didilium! set the bellows snoring:
Ding dong, didilium! the red fire is roaring.”
“Hush, boys, and hark, boys, I hear a pair eloping,
Hush, boys, and hark, boys, they'll go free, I'm hoping,
Ding dong, didilium! I hear a shoe clinking,
Ding dong, didilium! there's need of nails, I'm thinking.”
“For Heaven's sake, a shoe, smith!” “Your honor, here 'tis ready;
Woa, mare, and so, mare, and steady, girl, steady!
Ding dong, didilium! off goes the carriage,
Ding dong, didilium! good luck be with the marriage.”
“Hush, boys, and hark, boys, I hear the kettle-drumming,
‘Drimin dhu, drimin dhu,’ King James's horse are coming;
Up, on the thatch, where my pretty pikes are hidden,
And have them all handy and bright when you're bidden.”
44

“For Heaven's sake, the pikes, smith!” “They're here for your picking,
Long pikes and strong pikes, and pikes for Dutchmensticking!
Ding dong, didilium! cursing in their cruppers,
Here jog the Mynherrs, 'tis time for our suppers.”
45

MO MOIREEN DHU.

When I sailed away
To win wealth for you
O'er the stormy sea,
O mo moireen dhu!
On the western wave
A black pirate knave
Bore me off his slave
From mo moireen dhu!
And I should work
For the tyrant Turk,
In cruel chains, beneath the scorching sun,
And never hear, when the dreadful week was done,
Bells for Christian prayer
Calling through the air.
Till a Moslem maid,
For the love of me,
With her artful aid,
Stole and set me free.
46

But no soft collogue
With that charming rogue,
Mo moireen oge,
Turned my heart from thee,
And I'm home at last
O'er the ocean vast,
My good red gold, in gaily glittering store,
Into mo moireen's modest lap to pour;
While with magic swell
Wakes our marriage bell.
47

SONG OF THE GHOST.

When all were dreaming
But Pastheen Power,
A light came streaming
Beneath her bower:
A heavy foot
At her door delayed,
A heavy hand
On the latch was laid.
“Now who dare venture,
At this dark hour,
Unbid to enter
My maiden bower?”
“Dear Pastheen, open
The door to me,
And your true lover
You'll surely see.”
51

“My own true lover,
So tall and brave,
Lives exiled over
The angry wave.”
“Your true love's body
Lies on the bier,
His faithful spirit
Is with you here.”
“His look was cheerful,
His voice was gay;
Your speech is fearful,
Your face is grey;
And sad and sunken
Your eye of blue,
But Patrick, Patrick,
Alas! 'tis you!”
Ere dawn was breaking
She heard below
The two cocks shaking
Their wings to crow.
“Oh, hush you, hush you,
Both red and grey,
52

Or you will hurry
My love away.
“Oh, hush your crowing,
Both grey and red,
Or he'll be going
To join the dead;
Oh, cease from calling
His ghost to the mould,
And I'll come crowning
Your combs with gold.”
When all were dreaming
But Pastheen Power,
A light went streaming
From out her bower;
And on the morrow,
When they awoke,
They knew that sorrow
Her heart had broke.
53

COLLEEN OGE ASTHORE.

When I marched away to war,
How you kissed me o'er and o'er:
Weeping, pressed me;
Sobbing, blessed me;
Colleen, colleen oge asthore.
I was wounded, wounded sore,
Dead, your father falsely swore;
Mad to harry
You to marry
One with miser-gold in store.
Ah! but when you dreamed me dead,
Forth you flew a wildered maid:
Ever grieving,
Ever weaving
Willow, willow for your head.
54

“Nay, he lives,” your mother said,
But you only shook your head;
“Why deceive me?
Ah! believe me,
Mother, mother, he is dead.”
So you pined and pined away,
Till, when in the winter grey
Home I hasted,
Wan and wasted,
Colleen, colleen oge, you lay.
“'Tis his lonesome ghost,” you said,
“Come to call me to the dead;”
“Nay, discover
Your dear lover
Longing now at last to wed.”
Then your cheek, so pale before,
With the rose of hope once more,
Faintly, slowly,
Brightly, wholly,
Blossomed, colleen oge asthore.
55

Till upon the chapel floor,
Side by side, we knelt and swore,
Duty dearest,
Love sincerest,
Colleen, colleen oge asthore.
56

A SAILOR LOVED A FARMER'S DAUGHTER.

A sailor once wooed a farmer's daughter,
The fairest lass in all the country side.
She loved him well; but when he besought her
With beating, beating heart to be his bride,
“A sailor lad,” she said, “I'll never, never wed,
And live a wife and widow all in one;
O no, my charmer shall be a farmer,
Returning faithful with the set of sun.”
At danger's call, across the water
The sailor went, but left his heart behind;
Fresh lovers whispered the farmer's daughter;
Yet when they prayed her to confess her mind,
“A farmer's lad,” she said, “I'll never, never wed,
When heroes bleed to guard their native strand.
Till war is over I need no lover:
Then let the stoutest soldier claim my hand.”
62

When peace returned, escaped from slaughter,
With stars and crosses home our warriors came,
And some went wooing the farmer's daughter,
But none could charm the lass to change her name;
Until once more from far a gallant, gallant tar
Began with beating heart his love to tell;
And sweetly turning, with blushes burning,
She sighed: “Since first we met I've loved you well!”
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.
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!
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.
65

THE BLUE, BLUE SMOKE.

Oh, many and many a time
In the dim old days,
When the chapel's distant chime
Pealed the hour of evening praise,
I've bowed my head in prayer;
Then shouldered scythe or bill,
And travelled free of care
To my home across the hill;
Whilst the blue, blue smoke
Of my cottage in the coom,
Softly wreathing,
Sweetly breathing,
Waved my thousand welcomes home.
For oft and oft I've stood,
Delighted in the dew,
Looking down across the wood,
Where it stole into my view—
Sweet spirit of the sod,
Of our own Irish earth,
66

Going gently up to God
From the poor man's hearth.
O, the blue, blue smoke
Of my cottage in the coom,
Softly wreathing,
Sweetly breathing,
My thousand welcomes home.
But I hurried swiftly on,
When Herself from the door
Came swimming like a swan
Beside the Shannon shore;
And after her in haste,
On pretty, pattering feet,
Our rosy cherubs raced
Their daddy dear to meet;
While the blue, blue smoke
Of my cottage in the coom,
Softly wreathing,
Sweetly breathing,
Waved my thousand welcomes home.
But the times are sorely changed
Since those dim old days,
67

And far, far I've ranged
From those dear old ways;
And my colleen's golden hair
To silver all has grown,
And our little cherub pair
Have cherubs of their own;
And the black, black smoke,
Like a heavy funeral plume,
Darkly wreathing,
Fearful breathing,
Crowns the city with its gloom.
But 'tis our comfort sweet,
Through the long toil of life,
That we'll turn with tired feet
From the noise and the strife,
And wander slowly back
In the soft western glow,
Hand in hand by the track
That we trod long ago;
Till the blue, blue smoke
Of our cottage in the coom,
Softly wreathing,
Sweetly breathing,
Waves our thousand welcomes home.
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