 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
54
THE ROVING PEDLAR
Do you mind the glad day
When we ranged, we two, o'er the green,
Amid the white May,
On the borders of lovely Lough Lene,
How out of the road came the roving old pedlar's long cry:
“Come buy my pretty wares, pretty wares, come buy, come buy!”
When we ranged, we two, o'er the green,
Amid the white May,
On the borders of lovely Lough Lene,
How out of the road came the roving old pedlar's long cry:
“Come buy my pretty wares, pretty wares, come buy, come buy!”
Not a cloud in the air,
All the woods one warble of song,
And we just a pair
Of wood-pigeons coo-cooing along;
When he, overhearing us, cunningly alters his cry:
“Wedding poplins, wedding veils, wedding rings! come buy, come buy!”
All the woods one warble of song,
And we just a pair
Of wood-pigeons coo-cooing along;
When he, overhearing us, cunningly alters his cry:
“Wedding poplins, wedding veils, wedding rings! come buy, come buy!”
One look in my eyes
And you took, mabouchaleen bawn,
My third finger's size
With a ribbon of rustling finane;
And when he'd the wedding ring sold, that old pedlar so sly,
“Just that poplin, just that veil, just those gloves,” he coaxed us to buy.
And you took, mabouchaleen bawn,
My third finger's size
With a ribbon of rustling finane;
And when he'd the wedding ring sold, that old pedlar so sly,
“Just that poplin, just that veil, just those gloves,” he coaxed us to buy.
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |