Your hills and dales and flowery values that lie near the Moorlough shore... Your vines that blow by Bordons Grove (Will I ever see you more?), where the primrose blows and the violet grows, where the trout and salmon play with my line and hook, delight I took to spend my youthful days... Last night I went to see my love, and to hear what she might say, to see if shed take pity on me, lest I might go away... She said: I loved an Irish lad and he was my only joy, and ever since I saw his face Ive loved that soldier boy... Perhaps your soldier lad is lost sailing over the sea of main, or perhaps hes gone with some other one... You may never see him again. Well, if my Irish lad is lost, hes the one I do adore and seven years I will wait for him by the banks of the Moorlough shore. Farewell to Sinclairs castle ground... Farewell to the foggy hill, where the linen webs lie bleaching silk and the badwdeen stream runs still... Near there I spent my youthful days, but alas they are no more... For cruelty has banished me far away from the Moorlough shore...
Posted on: Fri, 22 Aug 2014 17:45:37 +0000
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