  Oh, had you seen the Coolun, walking down by the cuckoo's street, With the dew of the meadow shining on her milk-white twinkling feet, My love she is, and my coleen oge, and she dwells in Bal'nagar; And she bears the palm of beauty bright, from the fairest that in Erin are. In Bal'nagar is the Coolun, like the berry on the bough her cheek; Bright beauty dwells for ever on her fair neck and ringlets sleek; Oh, sweeter is her mouth's soft music, than the lark or thrush at dawn, Or the blackbird in the greenwood singing farewell to the setting sun. Rise up, my boy! make ready my horse, for I forth would ride, To follow the modest damsel, where she walks on the green hill side; For, ever since our youth were we plighted, in faith, troth, and wedlock true— She is sweeter to me nine times over than organ or cuckoo! For, ever since my childhood I loved the fair and darling child; But our people came between us, and with lucre our pure love defiled; Oh, my woe it is, and my bitter pain, and I weep it night and day, That the coleen bawn of my early love is torn from my heart away. Sweetheart and faithful treasure, be constant still, and true; Nor for want of herds and houses leave one who would ne'er leave you: I'll pledge you the blessed Bible, without and eke within, That the faithful God will provide for us, without thanks to kith and kin. Oh, love, do you remember when we lay all night alone, Beneath the ash in the winter-storm, when the oak wood round did groan? No shelter then from the blast had we, the bitter blast and sleet, But your gown to wrap about our heads, and my coat around our feet. Sir Samuel Ferguson. |
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