Chapter 2

THE BOY FROM BALLYTEARIM.He was born in Ballytearim, where there' little work to do,An' the longer he was livin' there the poorer still he grew;Says he till all belongin' him, "Now happy may ye be!But I'm off to find me fortune," sure he says, says he."All the gold in Ballytearim is what's stickin' to the whin;All the crows in Ballytearim has a way o' gettin' thin."So the people did be praisin' him the year he wint away,—"Troth, I'll hould ye can do it," sure they says, says they.Och, the boy 'ud still be thinkin' long, an' he across the foam,An' the two ould hearts be thinkin' long that waited for him home:But a girl that sat her lone an' whiles, her head upon her knee,Would be sighin' low for sorra, not a word says she.He won home to Ballytearim, an' the two were livin' yet,When he heard where she was lyin' now the eyes of him were wet;"Faith, here's me two fists full o' gold, an' little good to meWhen I'll never meet an' kiss her," sure he says, says he.Then the boy from Ballytearim set his face another road,An' whatever luck has followed him was never rightly knowed:But still it's truth I'm tellin' ye—or may I never sin!—All the gold in Ballytearim is what's stickin' to the whin.I MIND THE DAY.I mind the day I'd wish I was a say-gull flyin' far,For then I'd fly an' find you in the West;An' I'd wish I was a little rose as sweet as roses are,For then you'd maybe wear it on your breast,Achray!You'd maybe take an' wear it on your breast.I'd wish I could be living near, to love you day an' night,To let no throuble touch you or annoy;I'd wish I could be dyin' here to rise a spirit light,If Them above 'ud let me bring you joy,Achray!If Them above 'ud let me win you joy.An' now I wish no wishes, nor ever fall a tear,Nor take a thought beyont the way I'm led:I mind the day that's over-by, an' bless the day that's here,There be to come a day when we'll be dead,Achray!A longer, lighter day when we'll be dead.GRACE FOR LIGHT.When we were little childer we had a quare wee house,Away up in the heather by the head o' Brabla' burn;The hares we'd see them scootin', an' we'd hear the crowin' grouse,An' when we'd all be in at night ye'd not get room to turn.The youngest two She'd put to bed, their faces to the wall,An' the lave of us could sit aroun', just anywhere we might;Herself 'ud take the rush-dip an' light it for us all,An' "God be thankèd!" she would say,—"now we have a light."Then we be to quet the laughin' an' pushin' on the floor,An' think on One who called us to come and be forgiven;Himself 'ud put his pipe down, an' say the good word more,"May the Lamb o' God lead us all to the Light o' Heaven!"There' a wheen things that used to be an' now has had their day,The nine Glens of Antrim can show ye many a sight;But not the quare wee house where we lived up Brabla' way,Nor a child in all the nine Glens that knows the grace for light.THE GRAND MATCH.Dennis was hearty when Dennis was young,High was his step in the jig that he sprung,Hehad the looks an' the sootherin' tongue,—An' he wanted a girl wid a fortune.Nannie was grey-eyed an' Nannie was tall,Fair was the face hid in-undher her shawl,Troth! an' he liked her the best o' them all,—But she'd not atraneento her fortune.He be to look out for a likelier match,So he married a girl that was counted a catch,An' as ugly as need be, the dark little patch,—But that was a thrifle, he tould her.She brought him her good-lookin' gold to admire,She brought him her good-lookin' cows to his byre,But far from good-lookin' she sat by his fire,—An' paid him that "thrifle" he tould her.He met pretty Nan when a month had gone by,An' he thought like a fool to get round her he'd try;Wid a smile on her lip an' a spark in her eye,She said, "How is the woman that owns ye?"Och, never be tellin' the life that he's led!Sure many's the night that he'll wish himself dead,For the sake o' two eyes in a pretty girl's head,—An' the tongue o' the woman that owns him.THE SAILOR MAN.Sure a terrible time I was out o' the way,Over the sea, over the sea,Till I come back to Ireland one sunny day,—Betther for me, betther for meThe first time me foot got the feel o' the groundI was sthrollin' along in an Irish city,That hasn't its aquil the world aroundFor the air that is sweet an' the girls that are pretty.Light on their feet now they passed me an' sped,Give you me word, give you me word,Every girl wid a turn o' the headJust like a bird, just like a bird;An' the lashes so thick round their beautiful eyesShinin' to tell you it's fair time o' day wid them,Back in me heart wid a kind o' surpriseI think how the Irish girls has the way wid them!Och man alive! but it's little ye knowThat never was there, never was there.Look where ye like for them, long may ye go,—What do I care? what do I care?Plenty as blackberries where will ye findRare pretty girls not by two nor by three o' them?Only just there where they grow, d'ye mindStill like the blackberries, more than ye see o' them.Long, long away, an' no matther how far,'Tis the girls that I miss, the girls that I miss:Women are round ye wherever ye areNot worth a kiss, not worth a kiss.Over in Ireland many's the one,—Well do I know, that has nothing to say wid them,—Sweeter than anythin' undher the sun,Och, 'tis the Irish girls has the way wid them!AT SEA.'Tis the long blue Head o' GarronFrom the sea,Och, we're sailin' past the GarronOn the sea.Now Glen Ariff lies behind,Where the waters fall an' windBy the willows o' Glen Ariff to the sea.Ould Luirgedan rises greenBy the sea,Ay, he stands between the GlensAn' the sea.Now we're past the darklin' caves,Where the breakin' summer wavesWandher in wi' their trouble from the sea.But Cushendun lies nearerTo the sea,An'thon'sa shore is dearerStill to me,For the land that I am leavin'Sure the heart I have is grievin',But the ship has set her sails for the sea.Och, what's this is deeperThan the sea?An' what's this is strongerNor the sea?When the call is "all or none,"An' the answer "all for one,"Then we be to sail away across the sea."LOOKIN' BACK."Wathers o' Moyle an' the white gulls flyin',Since I was near ye what have I seen?Deep great seas, an' a sthrong wind sighin'Night an' day where the waves are green.Struth na Moile, the wind goes sighin'Over a waste o' wathers green.Slemish an' Trostan, dark wi' heather,High are the Rockies, airy-blue;Sure ye have snows in the winter weather,Here they're lyin' the long year through.Snows are fair in the summer weather,Och, an' the shadows between are blue!Lone Glen Dun an' the wild glen flowers,Little ye know if the prairie is sweet.Roses for miles, an' redder than oursSpring here undher the horses' feet,Ay, an' the black-eyed gold sunflowers,Not as the glen flowers small an' sweet.Wathers o' Moyle, I hear ye callin'Clearer for half o' the world between,Antrim hills an' the wet rain fallin'Whiles ye are nearer than snow-tops keen:Dreams o' the night an' a night wind callin'—What is the half o' the world between?THE NORTH-WEST—CANADA.Oh would ye hear, and would ye hearOf the windy, wide North-West?Faith! 'tis a land as green as the sea,That rolls as far and rolls as free,With drifts of flowers, so many there be,Where the cattle roam and rest.Oh could ye see, and could ye seeThe great gold skies so clear,The rivers that race through the pine-shade dark,The mountainous snows that take no mark,Sun-lit and high on the Rockies stark,So far they seem as near.Then could ye feel, and could ye feelHow fresh is a Western night!When the long land-breezes rise and passAnd sigh in the rustling prairie grass,When the dark-blue skies are clear as glass,And the same old stars are bright.But could ye know, and for ever knowThe word of the young North-West!A word she breathes to the true and bold,A word misknown to the false and cold,A word that never was spoken or sold,But the one that knows is blest.BACK TO IRELAND.Oh tell me, will I ever win to Ireland again,Astore!from the far North-West?Have we given all the rainbows, an' green woods an' rain,For the suns an' the snows o' the West?"Them that goes to Ireland must thravel night an' day,An' them that goes to Ireland must sail across the say,For the len'th of here to Ireland is half the world away—An' you'll lave your heart behind you in the West.Set your face for Ireland,Kiss your friends in Ireland,But lave your heart behind you in the West."On a dim an' shiny mornin' the ship she comes to land,Early, oh early in the mornin',The silver wathers o' the Foyle go slidin' to the strand,Whisperin', "Ye're welcome in the mornin'."There's darkness on the holy hills I know are close aroun',But the stars are shinin' up the sky, the stars are shinin' down,They make a golden cross above, they make a golden crown,An' meself could tell ye why,—in the mornin'.Sure an' this is Ireland,Thank God for Ireland!I'm comin' back to Ireland the mornin'.PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKSONGS OF THE GLENS OF ANTRIM***

THE BOY FROM BALLYTEARIM.

He was born in Ballytearim, where there' little work to do,An' the longer he was livin' there the poorer still he grew;Says he till all belongin' him, "Now happy may ye be!But I'm off to find me fortune," sure he says, says he."All the gold in Ballytearim is what's stickin' to the whin;All the crows in Ballytearim has a way o' gettin' thin."So the people did be praisin' him the year he wint away,—"Troth, I'll hould ye can do it," sure they says, says they.Och, the boy 'ud still be thinkin' long, an' he across the foam,An' the two ould hearts be thinkin' long that waited for him home:But a girl that sat her lone an' whiles, her head upon her knee,Would be sighin' low for sorra, not a word says she.He won home to Ballytearim, an' the two were livin' yet,When he heard where she was lyin' now the eyes of him were wet;"Faith, here's me two fists full o' gold, an' little good to meWhen I'll never meet an' kiss her," sure he says, says he.Then the boy from Ballytearim set his face another road,An' whatever luck has followed him was never rightly knowed:But still it's truth I'm tellin' ye—or may I never sin!—All the gold in Ballytearim is what's stickin' to the whin.

He was born in Ballytearim, where there' little work to do,

An' the longer he was livin' there the poorer still he grew;

Says he till all belongin' him, "Now happy may ye be!

But I'm off to find me fortune," sure he says, says he.

"All the gold in Ballytearim is what's stickin' to the whin;All the crows in Ballytearim has a way o' gettin' thin."So the people did be praisin' him the year he wint away,—"Troth, I'll hould ye can do it," sure they says, says they.

"All the gold in Ballytearim is what's stickin' to the whin;

All the crows in Ballytearim has a way o' gettin' thin."

So the people did be praisin' him the year he wint away,—

"Troth, I'll hould ye can do it," sure they says, says they.

Och, the boy 'ud still be thinkin' long, an' he across the foam,An' the two ould hearts be thinkin' long that waited for him home:But a girl that sat her lone an' whiles, her head upon her knee,Would be sighin' low for sorra, not a word says she.

Och, the boy 'ud still be thinkin' long, an' he across the foam,

An' the two ould hearts be thinkin' long that waited for him home:

But a girl that sat her lone an' whiles, her head upon her knee,

Would be sighin' low for sorra, not a word says she.

He won home to Ballytearim, an' the two were livin' yet,When he heard where she was lyin' now the eyes of him were wet;"Faith, here's me two fists full o' gold, an' little good to meWhen I'll never meet an' kiss her," sure he says, says he.

He won home to Ballytearim, an' the two were livin' yet,

When he heard where she was lyin' now the eyes of him were wet;

"Faith, here's me two fists full o' gold, an' little good to me

When I'll never meet an' kiss her," sure he says, says he.

Then the boy from Ballytearim set his face another road,An' whatever luck has followed him was never rightly knowed:But still it's truth I'm tellin' ye—or may I never sin!—All the gold in Ballytearim is what's stickin' to the whin.

Then the boy from Ballytearim set his face another road,

An' whatever luck has followed him was never rightly knowed:

But still it's truth I'm tellin' ye—or may I never sin!—

All the gold in Ballytearim is what's stickin' to the whin.

I MIND THE DAY.

I mind the day I'd wish I was a say-gull flyin' far,For then I'd fly an' find you in the West;An' I'd wish I was a little rose as sweet as roses are,For then you'd maybe wear it on your breast,Achray!You'd maybe take an' wear it on your breast.I'd wish I could be living near, to love you day an' night,To let no throuble touch you or annoy;I'd wish I could be dyin' here to rise a spirit light,If Them above 'ud let me bring you joy,Achray!If Them above 'ud let me win you joy.An' now I wish no wishes, nor ever fall a tear,Nor take a thought beyont the way I'm led:I mind the day that's over-by, an' bless the day that's here,There be to come a day when we'll be dead,Achray!A longer, lighter day when we'll be dead.

I mind the day I'd wish I was a say-gull flyin' far,

For then I'd fly an' find you in the West;

An' I'd wish I was a little rose as sweet as roses are,

For then you'd maybe wear it on your breast,Achray!You'd maybe take an' wear it on your breast.

For then you'd maybe wear it on your breast,

Achray!

You'd maybe take an' wear it on your breast.

I'd wish I could be living near, to love you day an' night,To let no throuble touch you or annoy;I'd wish I could be dyin' here to rise a spirit light,If Them above 'ud let me bring you joy,Achray!If Them above 'ud let me win you joy.

I'd wish I could be living near, to love you day an' night,

To let no throuble touch you or annoy;

I'd wish I could be dyin' here to rise a spirit light,

If Them above 'ud let me bring you joy,Achray!If Them above 'ud let me win you joy.

If Them above 'ud let me bring you joy,

Achray!

If Them above 'ud let me win you joy.

An' now I wish no wishes, nor ever fall a tear,Nor take a thought beyont the way I'm led:I mind the day that's over-by, an' bless the day that's here,There be to come a day when we'll be dead,Achray!A longer, lighter day when we'll be dead.

An' now I wish no wishes, nor ever fall a tear,

Nor take a thought beyont the way I'm led:

I mind the day that's over-by, an' bless the day that's here,

There be to come a day when we'll be dead,Achray!A longer, lighter day when we'll be dead.

There be to come a day when we'll be dead,

Achray!

A longer, lighter day when we'll be dead.

GRACE FOR LIGHT.

When we were little childer we had a quare wee house,Away up in the heather by the head o' Brabla' burn;The hares we'd see them scootin', an' we'd hear the crowin' grouse,An' when we'd all be in at night ye'd not get room to turn.The youngest two She'd put to bed, their faces to the wall,An' the lave of us could sit aroun', just anywhere we might;Herself 'ud take the rush-dip an' light it for us all,An' "God be thankèd!" she would say,—"now we have a light."Then we be to quet the laughin' an' pushin' on the floor,An' think on One who called us to come and be forgiven;Himself 'ud put his pipe down, an' say the good word more,"May the Lamb o' God lead us all to the Light o' Heaven!"There' a wheen things that used to be an' now has had their day,The nine Glens of Antrim can show ye many a sight;But not the quare wee house where we lived up Brabla' way,Nor a child in all the nine Glens that knows the grace for light.

When we were little childer we had a quare wee house,

Away up in the heather by the head o' Brabla' burn;

The hares we'd see them scootin', an' we'd hear the crowin' grouse,

An' when we'd all be in at night ye'd not get room to turn.

The youngest two She'd put to bed, their faces to the wall,An' the lave of us could sit aroun', just anywhere we might;Herself 'ud take the rush-dip an' light it for us all,An' "God be thankèd!" she would say,—"now we have a light."

The youngest two She'd put to bed, their faces to the wall,

An' the lave of us could sit aroun', just anywhere we might;

Herself 'ud take the rush-dip an' light it for us all,

An' "God be thankèd!" she would say,—"now we have a light."

Then we be to quet the laughin' an' pushin' on the floor,An' think on One who called us to come and be forgiven;Himself 'ud put his pipe down, an' say the good word more,"May the Lamb o' God lead us all to the Light o' Heaven!"

Then we be to quet the laughin' an' pushin' on the floor,

An' think on One who called us to come and be forgiven;

Himself 'ud put his pipe down, an' say the good word more,

"May the Lamb o' God lead us all to the Light o' Heaven!"

There' a wheen things that used to be an' now has had their day,The nine Glens of Antrim can show ye many a sight;But not the quare wee house where we lived up Brabla' way,Nor a child in all the nine Glens that knows the grace for light.

There' a wheen things that used to be an' now has had their day,

The nine Glens of Antrim can show ye many a sight;

But not the quare wee house where we lived up Brabla' way,

Nor a child in all the nine Glens that knows the grace for light.

THE GRAND MATCH.

Dennis was hearty when Dennis was young,High was his step in the jig that he sprung,Hehad the looks an' the sootherin' tongue,—An' he wanted a girl wid a fortune.Nannie was grey-eyed an' Nannie was tall,Fair was the face hid in-undher her shawl,Troth! an' he liked her the best o' them all,—But she'd not atraneento her fortune.He be to look out for a likelier match,So he married a girl that was counted a catch,An' as ugly as need be, the dark little patch,—But that was a thrifle, he tould her.She brought him her good-lookin' gold to admire,She brought him her good-lookin' cows to his byre,But far from good-lookin' she sat by his fire,—An' paid him that "thrifle" he tould her.He met pretty Nan when a month had gone by,An' he thought like a fool to get round her he'd try;Wid a smile on her lip an' a spark in her eye,She said, "How is the woman that owns ye?"Och, never be tellin' the life that he's led!Sure many's the night that he'll wish himself dead,For the sake o' two eyes in a pretty girl's head,—An' the tongue o' the woman that owns him.

Dennis was hearty when Dennis was young,High was his step in the jig that he sprung,Hehad the looks an' the sootherin' tongue,—An' he wanted a girl wid a fortune.

Dennis was hearty when Dennis was young,

High was his step in the jig that he sprung,

Hehad the looks an' the sootherin' tongue,—

An' he wanted a girl wid a fortune.

Nannie was grey-eyed an' Nannie was tall,Fair was the face hid in-undher her shawl,Troth! an' he liked her the best o' them all,—But she'd not atraneento her fortune.

Nannie was grey-eyed an' Nannie was tall,

Fair was the face hid in-undher her shawl,

Troth! an' he liked her the best o' them all,—

But she'd not atraneento her fortune.

He be to look out for a likelier match,So he married a girl that was counted a catch,An' as ugly as need be, the dark little patch,—But that was a thrifle, he tould her.

He be to look out for a likelier match,

So he married a girl that was counted a catch,

An' as ugly as need be, the dark little patch,—

But that was a thrifle, he tould her.

She brought him her good-lookin' gold to admire,She brought him her good-lookin' cows to his byre,But far from good-lookin' she sat by his fire,—An' paid him that "thrifle" he tould her.

She brought him her good-lookin' gold to admire,

She brought him her good-lookin' cows to his byre,

But far from good-lookin' she sat by his fire,—

An' paid him that "thrifle" he tould her.

He met pretty Nan when a month had gone by,An' he thought like a fool to get round her he'd try;Wid a smile on her lip an' a spark in her eye,She said, "How is the woman that owns ye?"

He met pretty Nan when a month had gone by,

An' he thought like a fool to get round her he'd try;

Wid a smile on her lip an' a spark in her eye,

She said, "How is the woman that owns ye?"

Och, never be tellin' the life that he's led!Sure many's the night that he'll wish himself dead,For the sake o' two eyes in a pretty girl's head,—An' the tongue o' the woman that owns him.

Och, never be tellin' the life that he's led!

Sure many's the night that he'll wish himself dead,

For the sake o' two eyes in a pretty girl's head,—

An' the tongue o' the woman that owns him.

THE SAILOR MAN.

Sure a terrible time I was out o' the way,Over the sea, over the sea,Till I come back to Ireland one sunny day,—Betther for me, betther for meThe first time me foot got the feel o' the groundI was sthrollin' along in an Irish city,That hasn't its aquil the world aroundFor the air that is sweet an' the girls that are pretty.Light on their feet now they passed me an' sped,Give you me word, give you me word,Every girl wid a turn o' the headJust like a bird, just like a bird;An' the lashes so thick round their beautiful eyesShinin' to tell you it's fair time o' day wid them,Back in me heart wid a kind o' surpriseI think how the Irish girls has the way wid them!Och man alive! but it's little ye knowThat never was there, never was there.Look where ye like for them, long may ye go,—What do I care? what do I care?Plenty as blackberries where will ye findRare pretty girls not by two nor by three o' them?Only just there where they grow, d'ye mindStill like the blackberries, more than ye see o' them.Long, long away, an' no matther how far,'Tis the girls that I miss, the girls that I miss:Women are round ye wherever ye areNot worth a kiss, not worth a kiss.Over in Ireland many's the one,—Well do I know, that has nothing to say wid them,—Sweeter than anythin' undher the sun,Och, 'tis the Irish girls has the way wid them!

Sure a terrible time I was out o' the way,

Over the sea, over the sea,

Till I come back to Ireland one sunny day,—

Betther for me, betther for me

The first time me foot got the feel o' the ground

I was sthrollin' along in an Irish city,

That hasn't its aquil the world around

For the air that is sweet an' the girls that are pretty.

Light on their feet now they passed me an' sped,Give you me word, give you me word,Every girl wid a turn o' the headJust like a bird, just like a bird;An' the lashes so thick round their beautiful eyesShinin' to tell you it's fair time o' day wid them,Back in me heart wid a kind o' surpriseI think how the Irish girls has the way wid them!

Light on their feet now they passed me an' sped,

Give you me word, give you me word,

Every girl wid a turn o' the head

Just like a bird, just like a bird;

An' the lashes so thick round their beautiful eyes

Shinin' to tell you it's fair time o' day wid them,

Back in me heart wid a kind o' surprise

I think how the Irish girls has the way wid them!

Och man alive! but it's little ye knowThat never was there, never was there.Look where ye like for them, long may ye go,—What do I care? what do I care?Plenty as blackberries where will ye findRare pretty girls not by two nor by three o' them?Only just there where they grow, d'ye mindStill like the blackberries, more than ye see o' them.

Och man alive! but it's little ye know

That never was there, never was there.

Look where ye like for them, long may ye go,—

What do I care? what do I care?

Plenty as blackberries where will ye find

Rare pretty girls not by two nor by three o' them?

Only just there where they grow, d'ye mind

Still like the blackberries, more than ye see o' them.

Long, long away, an' no matther how far,'Tis the girls that I miss, the girls that I miss:Women are round ye wherever ye areNot worth a kiss, not worth a kiss.Over in Ireland many's the one,—Well do I know, that has nothing to say wid them,—Sweeter than anythin' undher the sun,Och, 'tis the Irish girls has the way wid them!

Long, long away, an' no matther how far,

'Tis the girls that I miss, the girls that I miss:

Women are round ye wherever ye are

Not worth a kiss, not worth a kiss.

Over in Ireland many's the one,—

Well do I know, that has nothing to say wid them,—

Sweeter than anythin' undher the sun,

Och, 'tis the Irish girls has the way wid them!

AT SEA.

'Tis the long blue Head o' GarronFrom the sea,Och, we're sailin' past the GarronOn the sea.Now Glen Ariff lies behind,Where the waters fall an' windBy the willows o' Glen Ariff to the sea.Ould Luirgedan rises greenBy the sea,Ay, he stands between the GlensAn' the sea.Now we're past the darklin' caves,Where the breakin' summer wavesWandher in wi' their trouble from the sea.But Cushendun lies nearerTo the sea,An'thon'sa shore is dearerStill to me,For the land that I am leavin'Sure the heart I have is grievin',But the ship has set her sails for the sea.Och, what's this is deeperThan the sea?An' what's this is strongerNor the sea?When the call is "all or none,"An' the answer "all for one,"Then we be to sail away across the sea.

'Tis the long blue Head o' GarronFrom the sea,Och, we're sailin' past the GarronOn the sea.Now Glen Ariff lies behind,Where the waters fall an' windBy the willows o' Glen Ariff to the sea.

'Tis the long blue Head o' Garron

From the sea,

Och, we're sailin' past the Garron

On the sea.

Now Glen Ariff lies behind,

Where the waters fall an' wind

By the willows o' Glen Ariff to the sea.

Ould Luirgedan rises greenBy the sea,Ay, he stands between the GlensAn' the sea.Now we're past the darklin' caves,Where the breakin' summer wavesWandher in wi' their trouble from the sea.

Ould Luirgedan rises green

By the sea,

Ay, he stands between the Glens

An' the sea.

Now we're past the darklin' caves,

Where the breakin' summer waves

Wandher in wi' their trouble from the sea.

But Cushendun lies nearerTo the sea,An'thon'sa shore is dearerStill to me,For the land that I am leavin'Sure the heart I have is grievin',But the ship has set her sails for the sea.

But Cushendun lies nearer

To the sea,

An'thon'sa shore is dearer

Still to me,

For the land that I am leavin'

Sure the heart I have is grievin',

But the ship has set her sails for the sea.

Och, what's this is deeperThan the sea?An' what's this is strongerNor the sea?When the call is "all or none,"An' the answer "all for one,"Then we be to sail away across the sea.

Och, what's this is deeper

Than the sea?

An' what's this is stronger

Nor the sea?

When the call is "all or none,"

An' the answer "all for one,"

Then we be to sail away across the sea.

"LOOKIN' BACK."

Wathers o' Moyle an' the white gulls flyin',Since I was near ye what have I seen?Deep great seas, an' a sthrong wind sighin'Night an' day where the waves are green.Struth na Moile, the wind goes sighin'Over a waste o' wathers green.Slemish an' Trostan, dark wi' heather,High are the Rockies, airy-blue;Sure ye have snows in the winter weather,Here they're lyin' the long year through.Snows are fair in the summer weather,Och, an' the shadows between are blue!Lone Glen Dun an' the wild glen flowers,Little ye know if the prairie is sweet.Roses for miles, an' redder than oursSpring here undher the horses' feet,Ay, an' the black-eyed gold sunflowers,Not as the glen flowers small an' sweet.Wathers o' Moyle, I hear ye callin'Clearer for half o' the world between,Antrim hills an' the wet rain fallin'Whiles ye are nearer than snow-tops keen:Dreams o' the night an' a night wind callin'—What is the half o' the world between?

Wathers o' Moyle an' the white gulls flyin',

Since I was near ye what have I seen?

Deep great seas, an' a sthrong wind sighin'

Night an' day where the waves are green.

Struth na Moile, the wind goes sighin'

Over a waste o' wathers green.

Slemish an' Trostan, dark wi' heather,High are the Rockies, airy-blue;Sure ye have snows in the winter weather,Here they're lyin' the long year through.Snows are fair in the summer weather,Och, an' the shadows between are blue!

Slemish an' Trostan, dark wi' heather,

High are the Rockies, airy-blue;

Sure ye have snows in the winter weather,

Here they're lyin' the long year through.

Snows are fair in the summer weather,

Och, an' the shadows between are blue!

Lone Glen Dun an' the wild glen flowers,Little ye know if the prairie is sweet.Roses for miles, an' redder than oursSpring here undher the horses' feet,Ay, an' the black-eyed gold sunflowers,Not as the glen flowers small an' sweet.

Lone Glen Dun an' the wild glen flowers,

Little ye know if the prairie is sweet.

Roses for miles, an' redder than ours

Spring here undher the horses' feet,

Ay, an' the black-eyed gold sunflowers,

Not as the glen flowers small an' sweet.

Wathers o' Moyle, I hear ye callin'Clearer for half o' the world between,Antrim hills an' the wet rain fallin'Whiles ye are nearer than snow-tops keen:Dreams o' the night an' a night wind callin'—What is the half o' the world between?

Wathers o' Moyle, I hear ye callin'

Clearer for half o' the world between,

Antrim hills an' the wet rain fallin'

Whiles ye are nearer than snow-tops keen:

Dreams o' the night an' a night wind callin'—

What is the half o' the world between?

THE NORTH-WEST—CANADA.

Oh would ye hear, and would ye hearOf the windy, wide North-West?Faith! 'tis a land as green as the sea,That rolls as far and rolls as free,With drifts of flowers, so many there be,Where the cattle roam and rest.Oh could ye see, and could ye seeThe great gold skies so clear,The rivers that race through the pine-shade dark,The mountainous snows that take no mark,Sun-lit and high on the Rockies stark,So far they seem as near.Then could ye feel, and could ye feelHow fresh is a Western night!When the long land-breezes rise and passAnd sigh in the rustling prairie grass,When the dark-blue skies are clear as glass,And the same old stars are bright.But could ye know, and for ever knowThe word of the young North-West!A word she breathes to the true and bold,A word misknown to the false and cold,A word that never was spoken or sold,But the one that knows is blest.

Oh would ye hear, and would ye hear

Of the windy, wide North-West?

Faith! 'tis a land as green as the sea,

That rolls as far and rolls as free,

With drifts of flowers, so many there be,

Where the cattle roam and rest.

Oh could ye see, and could ye seeThe great gold skies so clear,The rivers that race through the pine-shade dark,The mountainous snows that take no mark,Sun-lit and high on the Rockies stark,So far they seem as near.

Oh could ye see, and could ye see

The great gold skies so clear,

The rivers that race through the pine-shade dark,

The mountainous snows that take no mark,

Sun-lit and high on the Rockies stark,

So far they seem as near.

Then could ye feel, and could ye feelHow fresh is a Western night!When the long land-breezes rise and passAnd sigh in the rustling prairie grass,When the dark-blue skies are clear as glass,And the same old stars are bright.

Then could ye feel, and could ye feel

How fresh is a Western night!

When the long land-breezes rise and pass

And sigh in the rustling prairie grass,

When the dark-blue skies are clear as glass,

And the same old stars are bright.

But could ye know, and for ever knowThe word of the young North-West!A word she breathes to the true and bold,A word misknown to the false and cold,A word that never was spoken or sold,But the one that knows is blest.

But could ye know, and for ever know

The word of the young North-West!

A word she breathes to the true and bold,

A word misknown to the false and cold,

A word that never was spoken or sold,

But the one that knows is blest.

BACK TO IRELAND.

Oh tell me, will I ever win to Ireland again,Astore!from the far North-West?Have we given all the rainbows, an' green woods an' rain,For the suns an' the snows o' the West?"Them that goes to Ireland must thravel night an' day,An' them that goes to Ireland must sail across the say,For the len'th of here to Ireland is half the world away—An' you'll lave your heart behind you in the West.Set your face for Ireland,Kiss your friends in Ireland,But lave your heart behind you in the West."On a dim an' shiny mornin' the ship she comes to land,Early, oh early in the mornin',The silver wathers o' the Foyle go slidin' to the strand,Whisperin', "Ye're welcome in the mornin'."There's darkness on the holy hills I know are close aroun',But the stars are shinin' up the sky, the stars are shinin' down,They make a golden cross above, they make a golden crown,An' meself could tell ye why,—in the mornin'.Sure an' this is Ireland,Thank God for Ireland!I'm comin' back to Ireland the mornin'.

Oh tell me, will I ever win to Ireland again,

Astore!from the far North-West?

Have we given all the rainbows, an' green woods an' rain,

For the suns an' the snows o' the West?

"Them that goes to Ireland must thravel night an' day,

An' them that goes to Ireland must sail across the say,

For the len'th of here to Ireland is half the world away—

An' you'll lave your heart behind you in the West.

Set your face for Ireland,Kiss your friends in Ireland,But lave your heart behind you in the West."

Set your face for Ireland,

Kiss your friends in Ireland,

But lave your heart behind you in the West."

On a dim an' shiny mornin' the ship she comes to land,Early, oh early in the mornin',The silver wathers o' the Foyle go slidin' to the strand,Whisperin', "Ye're welcome in the mornin'."There's darkness on the holy hills I know are close aroun',But the stars are shinin' up the sky, the stars are shinin' down,They make a golden cross above, they make a golden crown,An' meself could tell ye why,—in the mornin'.Sure an' this is Ireland,Thank God for Ireland!I'm comin' back to Ireland the mornin'.

On a dim an' shiny mornin' the ship she comes to land,

Early, oh early in the mornin',

The silver wathers o' the Foyle go slidin' to the strand,

Whisperin', "Ye're welcome in the mornin'."

There's darkness on the holy hills I know are close aroun',

But the stars are shinin' up the sky, the stars are shinin' down,

They make a golden cross above, they make a golden crown,

An' meself could tell ye why,—in the mornin'.

Sure an' this is Ireland,Thank God for Ireland!I'm comin' back to Ireland the mornin'.

Sure an' this is Ireland,

Thank God for Ireland!

I'm comin' back to Ireland the mornin'.

PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKSONGS OF THE GLENS OF ANTRIM***

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