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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 299 |
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The butter and the cream do wondrously abound,,
Uileacdn dubh O !. ■ The cresses on the water and the sorrels are at hand, And the cuckoo's calling daily his note of music bland, And the bold thrush sings so bravely his song i' the forests grand
On the fair hills of holy Ireland. |
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THE FAIRY THORN
An Ulster ballad.
" /^^ET up, our Anna dear, from the weary spin-l T ning wheel;
For your father's on the hill, and your mother is asleep: Come up above the crags, and we'll dance a highland reel
Around the fairy thorn on the steep."
At Anna Grace's door 'twas thus the maidens cried,'
Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green; And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside, The fairest of the four, I ween.
They're glancing through the glimmer of the quiet eve,
Away in milky wavings of neck and ankle bare; The heavy sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave, And the crags in the ghostly air;
And linking hand in hand and singing as they go, The maids along the hillside have ta'en their fear less way, |
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