The wish of my heart is, if ever I had any one—
That every luck in life may linger with the Donovans.
Soon as you lift the latch, little ones are meeting you;
Soon as you’re ’neath the thatch, kindly looks are greeting you;
Scarce have you time to be holding out the fist to them—
Down by the fireside you’re sitting in the midst of them!
There sits the grey old man, so flaitheamhail[46] and so handsome,
There sit his sturdy sons, well worth a monarch’s ransom;
Songs the night long, you may hear your heart’s desire of them,
Tales of old times they will tell you till you tire of them.