Do you remember that night
That you and I were
At the foot of the rowan-tree,
And the night drifting snow?
Your head on my breast,
And your pipe sweetly playing?
Little thought I that night
That our love ties would loosen!
Beloved of my inmost heart,
Come some night, and soon,
When my people are at rest,
That we may talk together.
My arms shall encircle you
While I relate my sad tale,
That your soft, pleasant converse
Hath deprived me of heaven.
The fire is unraked,
The light unextinguished,
The key under the door,
Do you softly draw it.
My mother is asleep,
But I am wide awake;
My fortune in my hand,
I am ready to go with you.
Written down by O'Curry for Dr. George Petrie.
[THE EXILE'S SONG]
Composed by an emigrant named MacAmbrois.
Oh! were I again on my native bay,
By the curving hills that are far away,
I scarcely would wander for half a day
From the Cuckoo's Glen of a Sunday!
For, och, och, Eire, O!
Lone is the exile from Eire, O!
'Tis my heart that is heavy and weary!