Then fly with me,- if thou hast known Come, if the love thou hast for me But if for me thou dost forsake Some other maid and rudely break Her worshipped image from its base, To give to me the ruined place, Then, fare thee well! I'd rather make THOMAS MOORE. Lovely Mary Wonnelly. O LOVELY Mary Donnelly, it's you I love the best! The dance o' last Whit Monday night exceeded all before No pretty girl for miles around was missing from the floor; But Mary kept the belt of love, and oh! but she was gay; She danced a jig, she sung a song, and took my heart away! When she stood up for dancing, her steps were so complete, The music nearly killed itself, to listen to her feet; The fiddler mourned his blindness, he heard her so much praised; But blessed himself he was n't deaf when once her voice she raised. And evermore I'm whistling or lilting what you sung; Your smile is always in my heart, your name beside my tongue. But you've as many sweethearts as you'd count on both your hands, And for myself there's not a thumb or little finger stands. If fifty girls were round you, I'd hardly see the Oh, you're the flower of womankind, in country or rest; Be what it may the time of day, the place be where it will, Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before me still. Her eyes like mountain water that's flowing on a rock, How clear they are, how dark they are! and they give me many a shock; Red rowans warm in sunshine, and wetted with a shower, Could ne'er express the charming lip that has me in its power. Her nose is straight and handsome, her eyebrows lifted up, Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth like a china cup; Her hair's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and so fine It's rolling down upon her neck, and gathered in a twine. |