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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 33 |
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"Spring's opening cheerily, cheerily! be we glad ! " Which moved, I wist not why, me melancholy mad, Till now, grown meek, With wetted cheek, Most comforting and gentle thoughts I had. |
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THE MILKMAID
O
H, where are you going so early? he said; Good luck go with you, my pretty maid; To tell you my mind I'm half afraid — But I wish I were your sweetheart. When the morning sun is shining low, And the cocks in every farmyard crow, I'll carry your pail, O'er hill and dale, And I'll go with you a-milking.
I'm going a-milking, sir, says she, Through the dew, and across the lea; You ne'er would even yourself to me, Or take me for your sweetheart. When the morning sun, etc.
Now give me your rriilking-stool a while, To carry it down to yonder stile; I'm wishing every step a mile, And myself your only sweetheart. When the morning sun, etc. |
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