SONG XXVI. The Lasses of Dublin

The meadows look cheerful, the birds sweetly sing, So gaily they carrol the praises of spring; Tho' nature rejoices, poor Norah shall mourn, Until her dear Patrick again shall return.

Ye lasses of Doublin, ah! hide your gay charms, Nor lure her dear Patrick from Norah's fond arms; Tho' sattins, and ribbons, and laces are fine, They hide not a heart with such feelings as mine,