The Bridge Of Luckeen

One day as I stood at the Bridge of Luckeen, Above the bright water all glancin’ an’ green, There strayed down the path from the top of the pass Such a slim little, prim little, trim little lass.

“Oho!” then quoth I, and “aha!” murmured she, With as pretty a curtsy as ever you ’d see; “Won’t you pause?” I inquired; “I don’t mind,” said her mien, So we looked, side by side, from the Bridge of Luckeen.

How the minutes flew by, an’ the stream how it flowed, While never a soul came along by the road; An’ I thought her eyes sweeter than Maeve ever knew, An’ she deemed me far bolder than Brian Boru!

There ’s a priest that ties knots, so the knowin’ ones say, In a neat little church in the town of Glenbeigh; If he ’ll tie just one more, I ’ll be thinkin’, I ween, If there ’s luck anywhere, there is luck at Luckeen!