Till once he laughed loudly and ever so jolly—
’Twas all on account of the popular Polly.
Tim Dolor, the bashful, was quite at his ease,
And every one there seemed as easy to please,
And every face beamed with a broadening smile
That broke into ripples of laughter the while,
As the men chose their partners some time in advance
Of the fiddles that had to be tuned for the dance.
Ah, the little sly glances that gave the love-token,
The soft-whispered words by the fond lovers spoken.