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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 207 |
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THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS (1814-1845)
A CHRISTMAS SCENE, OR LOVE IN THE COUNTRY
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T
HE hill blast comes howling through leaf-rifted trees That late were as harp-strings to each gentle breeze; The strangers and cousins and every one flown, While we sit happy-hearted—together alone.
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Some are off to the mountain, and some to the fair, The snow is on their cheek, on mine your black hair; Papa with his farming is busy to-day, And mamma's too good-natured to ramble this way.
in
The girls are gone—are they not ? into town, To fetch bows and bonnets, perchance a beau, down; Ah ! tell them, dear Kate, 'tis not fair to coquette — Though you, you bold lassie, are fond of it yet! |
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