POETRY.
IRISH SONG.
[Air : "The banks of the Daisies."] WHEN first I saw young Molly
Sthritched beneath the holly, Fast asleep, forenint her sheep, wan dreamy summer's day, Wid daisies laughin' round her, Hand and foot I bound her, Then kissed her on her bloomin' cheek, and softly stole away.
But as, wid blushes burnin', Tiptoe I was turnin', From sleep she starts and on me darts a dreadful lightnini-ray, My foolish, flowery fetters Scornfully she scatters, And like a winter sunbeam she coldly sweeps away.
But Love, young Love, comes stoopin' O'er my daisies droopin', And oh ! each flower, wid fairy-power, the rosy Boy renews; Then twines each charmin' cluster In links of starry lustre, And wid the chain enchanting, my colleen proud pursues.
And soon I met young Molly blusin' melancholy, Wid downcast eyes and startin' sighs, along the meadow-bank.
And oh! her swellin' bosom Was wreathed wid daisy-blossom, Like stars in summer heaven, as in my arms she sank.
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