 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
76
IRISH TEACHING.
Dear Judy, I 've taken a-thinking,
The children their letters must learn,
And we 'll send for old Father O'Jenkin
To teach them three months in the barn;
For learning 's the way to promotion,
'Tis culture brings food from the sod,
And books give a fellow a notion
How matters are doing abroad.
The children their letters must learn,
And we 'll send for old Father O'Jenkin
To teach them three months in the barn;
For learning 's the way to promotion,
'Tis culture brings food from the sod,
And books give a fellow a notion
How matters are doing abroad.
Though father neglected my reading,
Kind soul! sure his spirit 's in rest!
For the very first part of his breeding
Was still to relieve the distrest:
And late, when the trav'ller benighted
Besought hospitality's claim,
He lodged him till morning, delighted,
Because 'twas a lesson to them.
Kind soul! sure his spirit 's in rest!
For the very first part of his breeding
Was still to relieve the distrest:
And late, when the trav'ller benighted
Besought hospitality's claim,
He lodged him till morning, delighted,
Because 'twas a lesson to them.
The man that won't feel for another
Is just like a colt on the moor,
He lives without knowing a brother,
To frighten bad luck from his door.
But he that 's kind-hearted and steady,
Though wintry misfortune should come,
He 'll still find some friend who is ready
To scare the old witch from his home.
Is just like a colt on the moor,
He lives without knowing a brother,
To frighten bad luck from his door.
But he that 's kind-hearted and steady,
Though wintry misfortune should come,
He 'll still find some friend who is ready
To scare the old witch from his home.
Success to Ould Ireland for ever!
'Tis just the dear land to my mind;
Her lads are warm-hearted and clever,
Her girls are all handsome and kind;
And he that her name would bespatter,
By wishing the French safely o'er,
May the de'il blow him over the water,
And make him cook frogs for the core!
'Tis just the dear land to my mind;
Her lads are warm-hearted and clever,
Her girls are all handsome and kind;
77
By wishing the French safely o'er,
May the de'il blow him over the water,
And make him cook frogs for the core!
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |