Have beheld a young man more polite, or so clever.
Near, of course, to his side,
Sat his young future bride,
Who seems much inclined to be jealous.
Speaks he but to another,
She her thoughts can scarce smother,
And sighs like a pair of new bellows.
Her old father and brother are somewhere about,—
With O'Flanagan talking, I have not a doubt,
Of the state of the crops, for of him land they rent,