My pockets were light, but my head had no pain;
And if I but live till the sun shines to-morrow,
I’ll be off to dear Erin and Norah M’Shane.
Angel’s Whisper.
A baby was sleeping,
Its mother was weeping,
For her husband was far o’er the wide raging sea,
And the tempest was swelling,
Round the fisherman’s dwelling,