Maire, my Girl.
JOHN K. CASEY
Over the dim blue hills
Strays a wild river,
Over the dim blue hills
Rests my heart ever.
Dearer and brighter than
Jewels and pearl,
Dwells she in beauty there,
Maire, my girl.
Down upon Claris heath
Shines the soft berry,
On the brown harvest tree
Droops the red cherry.
Sweeter thy honey lips,
Softer the curl
Straying adown thy cheeks,
Maire, my girl.
’Twas on an April eve
That I first met her;
Many an eve shall pass
Ere I forget her.
Since, my young heart has been
Wrapped in a whirl,
Thinking and dreaming of
Maire, my girl.
She is too kind and fond
Ever to grieve me,
She has too pure a heart
E’er to deceive me.
Were I Tryconnell’s chief
Or Desmond’s earl,
Life would be dark, wanting
Maire, my girl!
Over the dim blue hills
Strays a wild river,
Over the dim blue hills
Rests my heart ever.
Dearer and brighter than
Jewels or pearl,
Dwells she in beauty there,
Maire, my girl.
Gracie Og Machree.[13]
(Song of the “Wild Geese.”)
JOHN K. CASEY
I placed the silver in her palm,
By Inny’s smiling tide,
And vowed, ere summer time came on,
To claim her as a bride.
But when the summer time came on
I dwelt beyond the sea;
Yet still my heart is ever true
To Gracie Og Machree.
O bonnie are the woods of Targ,
And green thy hills, Rathmore,
And soft the sunlight ever falls
On Darre’s sloping shore;
And there the eyes I love—in tears
Shine ever mournfully,
While I am far, and far away
From Gracie Og Machree.
When battle-steeds were neighing loud,
With bright blades in the air,
Next to my inmost heart I wore
A bright tress of her hair.
When stirrup-cups were lifted up
To lips, with soldier glee,
One toast I always fondly pledged,
’Twas Gracie Og Machree.
Dirge.
(From “The Sea Bride.”)
GEORGE DARLEY
Prayer unsaid, and mass unsung,
Deadman’s dirge must still be rung:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells sound!
Mermen chant his dirge around!
Wash him bloodless, smooth him fair,
Stretch his limbs, and sleek his hair:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells go!
Mermen swing them to and fro!
In the wormless sand shall he
Feast for no foul glutton be:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells chime!
Mermen keep the tone and time!
We must with a tombstone brave
Shut the shark out from his grave:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells toll!
Mermen dirgers ring his knoll!
Such a slab will we lay o’er him
All the dead shall rise before him!
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells boom!
Mermen lay him in his tomb!