 | Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover |  |
MARY MACHREE.
The flower of the valley was Mary Machree,
Her smiles all bewitching were lovely to see,
The bees round her humming, when summer was gone,
When the roses were fled, might take her lip for one;
Her laugh it was music—her breath it was balm—
Her heart, like the lake, was as pure and as calm,
Till love o'er it came, like a breeze o'er the sea,
And made the heart heave of sweet Mary Machree
Her smiles all bewitching were lovely to see,
The bees round her humming, when summer was gone,
When the roses were fled, might take her lip for one;
Her laugh it was music—her breath it was balm—
Her heart, like the lake, was as pure and as calm,
Till love o'er it came, like a breeze o'er the sea,
And made the heart heave of sweet Mary Machree
71
She loved—and she wept: for was gladness e'er known
To dwell in the bosom that Love makes its own?
His joys are but moments—his griefs are for years—
He comes all in smiles—but he leaves all in tears.
Her lover was gone to a far distant land,
And Mary, in sadness, would pace the lone strand,
And tearfully gaze o'er the dark rolling sea
That parted her soldier from Mary Machree.
To dwell in the bosom that Love makes its own?
His joys are but moments—his griefs are for years—
He comes all in smiles—but he leaves all in tears.
Her lover was gone to a far distant land,
And Mary, in sadness, would pace the lone strand,
And tearfully gaze o'er the dark rolling sea
That parted her soldier from Mary Machree.
| Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover | |