“Wisha, did you hear the Careys? Don’t they think they’re fine canaries?”
“Yerra, wouldn’t you think they’d hold the tongues, and let the people pray!”
“Faith, my head is all a-reelin’ from them Careys and their squealin’—
Wisha, did you hear them shoutin’ there to-day!”
The angels, in their peaceful skies
Through starry paddocks straying,
Must sometimes smile with kindly eyes
To see the tricks we’re playing.
Now rosy-cheeked and smart and fair
Was Carey’s youngest daughter;