I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary,

Where we sat side by side

On a bright May mornin' long ago,
When first you were my bride;

The corn was springin' fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud and high;
And the red was on your lip, Mary,
And the love-light in your eye.

The place is little changed, Mary;
The day is bright as then;
The lark's loud song is in my ear,
And the corn is green again;
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,

And your breath, warm on my cheek;
And I still keep list'nin' for the words
You never more will speak.

'Tis but a step down yonder lane,

And the little church stands nearThe church where we were wed, Mary; I see the spire from here.

But the graveyard lies between, Mary,

And my step might break your rest— For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast.

I'm very lonely now, Mary,

For the poor make no new friends;

[graphic][merged small]

But, oh! they love the better still
The few our Father sends!
And you were all I had, Mary-
My blessing and my pride:
There's nothing left to care for now,
Since my poor Mary died.

Yours was the good brave heart, Mary,
That still kept hoping on,

When the trust in God had left my soul,

And my arm's young strength was gone; There was comfort ever on your lip,

And the kind look on your brow— I bless you, Mary, for that same, Though you cannot hear me now.

I thank you for the patient smile
When your heart was fit to break-
When the hunger-pain was gnawin' there,
And you hid it for my sake;
Í bless you for the pleasant word,

When your heart was sad and sore—
Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,
Where grief can't reach you more!

I'm biddin' you a long farewell,
My Mary-kind and true!
But I'll not forget you, darling,
In the land I'm goin' to;

They say there's bread and work for all,
And the sun shines always there—

But I'll not forget old Ireland,
Were it fifty times as fair!

And often in those grand old woods
I'll sit, and shut my eyes,


my heart will travel back again To the place where Mary lies! And I'll think I see the little stile

Where we sat side by side,

And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn, When first you were my bride.


JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John,

When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,

Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither,
And monie a cantie day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
And hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.



WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye come hame,

When a' the world to sleep are gane,

The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, While my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel and sought me for his bride,

But saving a crown, he had naething else beside
To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea,
And the crown and the pound were baith for me.
He hadna been gane a week but only twa,
When my father brake his arm, and our cow was
stown awa';

My mither she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea, And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courting me.

My father couldna work—and my mither couldna spin;

I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e,

Said, "Jennie, for their sakes, will you no marry me?"

My heart it said na; I looked for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high and the ship it was a wrack;

The ship it was a wrack—why didna Jennie dee? Oh, why do I live to sav. Oh. wae's me!

« ForrigeFortsett »