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DARK is the evening and silent the hour;
Who is the minstrel by yonder lone tow'r'
His harp all so tenderly touching with skill,
Oh, who should it be but Ned of the Hill!
Who, sings "Lady love, come to me now,
Come and live merrily under the bough,
And I'll pillow thy head,
Where the fairies tread,

If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill!”

Ned of the Hill has no castle nor hall,
Nor spearmen nor bowmen to come at his

But one little archer, of exquisite skill,
Has shot a bright shaft for Ned of the Hill,
Who sings, "Lady love, come to me now,
Come and live merrily under the bough,
And I'll pillow thy head,
Where the fairies tread,

If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill!"

Tis hard to escape from that fair lady's bower,

For high is the window, and guarded the tower,

"But there's always a way where there is a will,"

So Ellen is off with Ned of the Hill!

Who sings,

We will live merrily under the bough,
And I'll pillow thy head,
Where the fairies tread,

For Ellen is bride to Ned of the Hill !"


Lady love, thou art mine


OH! come to the West, love-oh! come there with me;

'Tis a sweet land of verdure that springs from the sea,

Where fair Plenty smiles from her emerald throue!

Oh, come to the West, and I'll make thee my own!

I'll guard thee, I'll tend thee, I'll love thee the best,

And you'll say there's no land like the land of the West!

The South has 'ts roses and bright skies of blue,

But ours are more sweet with love's own changeful hue

Half sunshine, half tears,—like the girl I love best,

Oh! what is the South to the beautiful


Then come to the West, and the rose en my mouth

Will be sweeter to me than the flow'rs of the South!

The North has its snow-tow'rs of dazzling array,

All sparkling with gems in the ne'er-setting day;

There the Storm-King may dwell in the halls he loves best,

But the soft-breathing Zephyr he plays in the West.

Then come there with me, where no cold wind doth blow!

And thy neck will seem fairer to me than the snow!

The sun in the gorgeous East chaseth the night

When he riseth, refreshed, in his glory and might,

But where doth he go when he seeks his sweet rest?

Oh! doth ne not haste to the beautiful West?

Then come there with me; 'Tis the land I love best,

Tis the land of my sires.-'tis my own darling West!


WIDOW machree, it's no wonder you frown. Och hone! widow machree;

Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown,

Och hone! widow machree. How altered your air,

With that close cap you wear'Tis destroying your hair

Which should be flowing free: Be no longer a churl

Of its black silken curl,

Och hone! widow machree!

Widow machree, now the summer is come,
Och hone! widow machree;
When everything smiles, should a beauty
look glum?

Och hone! widow machree.

See the birds go in pairs,
And the rabbits and hares-
Why even the bears.

Now in couples agree;
And the mute little fish,

Though they can't spake, they wish,
Och hone! widow machree.

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Widow machree, and when winter comes


Och hone! widow machree.


To be poking the fire all alone is a sin,
Och hone! widow machreo.
Sure the shovel and tongs
To each other belongs,
And the kettle sings songs
Full of family glee ·
While alone with your cup,
Like a hermit you sup,

Och hone! widow machree.

And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld,

Och hone! widow machree.

But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld,

Och hone! widow machree.
With such sins on your head
Sure your peace would be fled,
Could you sleep in your bed,
Without thinking to see
Some ghost or some sprite,
That would wake you each night,

Crying, "Och hone! widow machree."

Then take my advice, darling widow machree,

Och hone! widow machree.

And with my advice, faith I wish you'd take me,

Och hone! widow machree.

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