THE CRUISKEEN LAWN.
Let the farmer praise his grounds,
Let the huntsman praise his hounds,
The farmer his sweet-scented lawn;
While I, more blest than they,
Spend each happy night and day
With my smiling little cruiskeen lawn.
Gra-ma-chree-ma cruiskeen,
Slainte geal ma vourneen,
Gra-ma-chree a coolin bawn, bawn, bawn,