_The Happy Townland._[D]

FLORENCE FARR.

O Death’s old bony finger Will never find us there In the high hollow townland Where love’s to give and to spare; Where boughs have fruit and blossom at all times of the year; Where rivers are running over With red beer and brown beer. An old man plays the bagpipes In a gold and silver wood; Queens, their eyes blue like the ice, Are dancing in a crowd.

Chorus.

The little fox he murmured, ‘O what of the world’s bane?’ The sun was laughing sweetly, The moon plucked at my rein; But the little red fox murmured, ‘O do not pluck at his rein, He is riding to the townland That is the world’s bane.’

FOOTNOTE:

[D] The music as written suits my speaking voice if played an octave lower than the notation.—F.F.