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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 281 . |
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For there, one bright summer,
Myself, a newcomer,
Found mirth, fun, and humor
That ne'er leaves my mind. Oh, those who each season, Without rhyme or reason, Cross far foreign seas on
To light the heart's load, Know nought of the pleasure, Without stint or measure, That waits them with leisure
Along the Bog Road.
All sorts and conditions, All trades and positions, Of men on all missions,
Are there to be found ; There are jobbers and teachers, And pedlars and preachers, And delicate creatures
From all Erin round; There are blooming young maidens, And hearts heavy laden, And stout dames that no sign
Of fading yet showed.; While dearly-dowered daughters Are trying the waters, And sighing for partners
Algng the Bog Road.
'Tis there every morning, Dull drowsiness scorning, Stout lads without warning Roam over the hills, |
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