  T here's a colleen fair as May, For a year and for a day I've sought by every way her heart to gain. There's no art of tongue or eye Fond youths with maidens try But I've tried with ceaseless sigh, yet tried in vain. If to France or far-off Spain She'd cross the watery main, To see her face again the sea I'd brave. And if 'tis heaven's decree That mine she may not be May the son of Mary me in mercy save! O thou blooming milk-white dove, To whom I've given true love, Do not ever thus reprove my constancy. There are maidens would be mine, With wealth in hand and kine, If my heart would but incline to turn from thee. But a kiss with welcome bland, And a touch of thy dear hand, Are all that I demand, would'st thou not spurn; For if not mine, dear girl, O Snowy-Breasted Pearl! May I never from the fair with life return! George Petrie. |
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