 | From the Hills of Dream |  |
18
A Milking Song.
(Aillsha-bàn.)
Aillsha-bàn, Aillsha-bàn,Give way to the milking!
The Holy St Bridget
Is milking, milking
This self-same even
The white kye in heaven—
Ay, sure, my eyes scan
The green place she is in,
Aillsha-bàn, Aillsha-bàn:
And her hand is so soft
And her crooning is sweet
As my milking is soft
Upon thee, Aillsha-bàn—
As my crooning is sweet
Upon thee, Aillsha-bàn,
Aillsha-bàn—
So soft is my hand and
My crooning so sweet,
Aillsha-bàn!
| From the Hills of Dream | |