 | Ballads of Irish chivalry |  |
THE MOUNTAIN ASH.
I
The mountain ash blooms in the wild,Or droops above the wandering rill;
You ne'er can see
A fairer tree,
But I know one dear maiden mild
With witching form more lovely still.
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II
The mountain ash has berries fair,The reddest in the woodlands green;
Sweet lips I know
With redder glow
Than ever lit those berries rare—
The red lips of my bosom's queen.
III
The mountain ash has leaves of gold,When autumn browns the steep hill's side;
Of locks I dream
With brighter gleam
Of yellow in their braid and fold
Than e'er tinged leaf in woodland wide.
IV
The mountain ash in winter sereStands bravely up when wild winds blow;
So love shall stand,
Serene and bland,
Between me and my Ellen dear,
A fadeless flower in weal or woe.
| Ballads of Irish chivalry | |