 | Irish Songs and Ballads |  |
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
| Irish Songs and Ballads | |