C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Alfred Perceval Graves (1846–1931)
The Rose of Kenmare
I
On the girleens of Galway,
And the Limerick lasses have made me feel quare;
But there’s no use denyin’,
No girl I’ve set eye on
Could compate wid Rose Ryan of the town of Kenmare.
Can her like be found?
No where,
The country round,
Spins at her wheel
Daughter as true,
Sets in the reel
Wid a slide of the shoe,
a slinderer,
tinderer,
purtier,
wittier colleen than you,
Rose, aroo!
And the soft silver moonshine
Neck and arm of the colleen completely eclipse;
Whilst the nose of the jewel
Slants straight as Carran Tual
From the heaven in her eye to her heather-sweet lip.
Oh, where, etc.
The wings of the swallow
Here and there, light as air, o’er the meadow field glance?
For if not, you’ve no notion
Of the exquisite motion
Of her sweet little feet as they dart in the dance.
Oh, where, etc.
Still shuns th’ invitin’ gale
That wafts every song-bird but her to the west,
Faix she knows, I suppose,
Ould Kenmare has a Rose
That would sing any bulbul to sleep in her nest.
Oh, where, etc.
For the milkin’ in the mornin’,
Ev’n the cow known for hornin’ comes runnin’ to her pail;
The lambs play about her,
And the small bonneens snout her
Whilst their parints salute her wid a twisht of the tail.
Oh, where, etc.
We draw neighbor wid neighbor
From the heat of the sun to the shelter of the tree,
Wid spuds fresh from the bilin’,
And new milk, you come smilin’,
All the boys’ hearts beguilin’, alannah machree!
Oh, where, etc.
When the hot day is o’er,
And we rest at the door wid the bright moon above,
And she’s sittin’ in the middle;
When she’s guessed Larry’s riddle,
Cries, “Now for your fiddle, Shiel Dhuv, Shiel Dhuv.”
Can her like be found?
No where,
The country round,
Spins at her wheel
Daughter as true,
Sets in the reel,
Wid a slide of the shoe,
a slinderer,
tinderer,
purtier,
wittier colleen than you,
Rose, aroo!