English poem
Maire Bhan Astor
by Thomas Davis
In a valley far away, With my Maire bhan astor, Short would be the summer-day, Ever loving more and more; Winter days would all grow long, With the light her heart would pour, With her kisses and her song, And her loving mait go leor. Fond is Maire bhan astor, Fair is Maire bhan astor, Sweet as ripple on the shore, Sings my Maire bhan astor.
O! her sire is very proud, And her mother cold as stone; But her brother bravely vowed She should be my bride alone; For he knew I loved her well, And he knew she loved me too, So he sought their pride to quell, But 'twas all in vain to sue. True is Maire bhan astor, Tried is Maire bhan astor, Had I wings I'd never soar From my Maire bhan astor.
There are lands where manly toil Surely reaps the crop it sows, Glorious woods and teeming soil, Where the broad Missouri flows: Through the trees the smoke shall rise, From our hearth with mait go leor, There shall shine the happy eyes Of my Maire bhan astor. Mild is Maire bhan astor, Mine is Maire bhan astor, Saints will watch about the door Of my Maire bhan astor.