  M y mirth and merriment, soft and sweet art thou, Child of the race of Conn art thou; My mirth and merriment, soft and sweet art thou, Of the race of Coll and Conn art thou. My smooth green rush, my laughter sweet, My little plant in the rocky cleft, Were it not for the spell on thy tiny feet Thou wouldst not here be left, Not thou. Of the race of Coll and Conn art thou, My laughter, sweet and low art thou; As you crow on my knee, I would lift you with me, Were it not for the mark that is on your feet I would lift you away, and away, with me. |
|
