Bog-land Studies :: :: University of Virginia Library

I'd be noways denyin' the say's done ill turns on us now and agin;
But our bit of an Inish, begorrah, I'll stan' by thro' thick an' thro' thin,
For the pleasant ould times we've had on it is more than I'll ever forget,
And except for th' ould master's misfortins, belike we'd be havin' thim yet.
There was none lived continteder; he in the Big House that's screened from the wind
Up the hollow, an' ourselves by the shore wid the bank lanin' over behind,
An' the say washin' up to the doors, an' the sod runnin' down to our boats,
Where along o' the weed-dhrifts an' shells there'd be grazin' most whiles for the goats;

And our pratie-dhrills yonder—ochone, not the heart-scalds they've been to us since,
For it's bare-fut th' ould master'd ha' walked ere he'd ask for a poor body's pince,
If so happen—an' ready enough 'tis to happen— a bad saison came.
He was that sort, and young Misther Denis, God rest of his soul, was the same.