 | Collected Poems of Moira O'Neill |  |
93
THE OULD TUNES.
A boy we had belongin' us, an' och, but he was gay,
An' we'd sooner hear him singin' than we'd hear the birds in May,
For a bullfinch was a fool to him, an' all ye had to do,
Only name the song ye wanted an' he'd sing it for ye through,
Wid his “Up now There!” an' his “Look about an' thry for it,”—
Faith, he had the quarest songs of any ye could find,—
“Poppies in the Corn” too, an' “Molly, never Cry for it!”
“A Pretty Girl I Courted,” an' “There's Trouble in the Wind.”
An' we'd sooner hear him singin' than we'd hear the birds in May,
For a bullfinch was a fool to him, an' all ye had to do,
Only name the song ye wanted an' he'd sing it for ye through,
94
Faith, he had the quarest songs of any ye could find,—
“Poppies in the Corn” too, an' “Molly, never Cry for it!”
“A Pretty Girl I Courted,” an' “There's Trouble in the Wind.”
Music is deludherin', ye'll hear the people say,
Ah, the more they be deludhered then, the betther is their case;
I would sooner miss my dhrink than never hear a fiddle play,
An' since Hughie up an' left us this has been another place.
Arrah, come back, lad! an' we'll love you when you sing for us,
Sure we're gettin' oulder an' ye'll maybe come too late.
Sing “Girl Dear!” an' “The Bees among the Ling” for us;
I could shake a foot to hear “The Pigeon on the Gate.”
Ah, the more they be deludhered then, the betther is their case;
I would sooner miss my dhrink than never hear a fiddle play,
An' since Hughie up an' left us this has been another place.
Arrah, come back, lad! an' we'll love you when you sing for us,
Sure we're gettin' oulder an' ye'll maybe come too late.
95
I could shake a foot to hear “The Pigeon on the Gate.”
Oh, Hughie had the music, but there come on him a change,
He should ha' stayed the boy he was an' never grown a man;
I seen the shadow on his face before his time to range,
An' I knew he sung for sorrow as a winter robin can.
But that's not the way! oh, I'd feel my heart grow light again,
Hughie, if I'd hear you at “The Pleasant Summer Rain”;
Ould sweet tunes, sure my wrong 'ud all come right again,
Listenin' for an hour I'd forget the feel o' pain.
He should ha' stayed the boy he was an' never grown a man;
I seen the shadow on his face before his time to range,
An' I knew he sung for sorrow as a winter robin can.
But that's not the way! oh, I'd feel my heart grow light again,
Hughie, if I'd hear you at “The Pleasant Summer Rain”;
Ould sweet tunes, sure my wrong 'ud all come right again,
Listenin' for an hour I'd forget the feel o' pain.
| Collected Poems of Moira O'Neill | |