Were it not that full of sorrow from my people forth I go.
By the blessed sun, ’tis royally I’d sing thy praise. Mayo!
II.
When I dwelt at home in plenty, and my gold did much abound.
In the company of fair young maids the Spanish ale went round—
’Tis a bitter change from those gay days that now I’m forced to go,
And must leave my bones in Santa Cruz, far from my own Mayo!
III.
They are altered girls in Irrul now, ’tis proud they’re grown and high,
With their hair-bags and their top-knots, for I pass their buckles by—