  Oh, I am just a rover Among the roving men Who loves to watch the sunlight Upon the flowering fen; Who fain would feel the heather Dew-soft beneath his tread When morning parts the cloud-wrack Above Benbulbin’s head; Who likes to lie and linger Until the rising moon Shows all her midnight glories High o’er the Lough of Cloon; Whose feet were shaped to follow The road’s eternal lure From stormy Stockarudden To sunny Knockanure! But since there ’s Sheilah calling, (’T is love that ’s in her call!) Faith, I am just a rover Who ’ll rove no more at all! |
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