SONG, FOR AN IRISH MELODY. Joanna Baillie Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Baillie, Joanna, 1762-1851. Fugitive Verses. By Joanna Baillie, author of “Dramas on the Passions,“ etc. London Edward Moxon, Dover Street. MDCCCXL. 1840 pp. 356-357.

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SONG , FOR AN IRISH MELODY . THE harper who sat on his green mossy seat , And harped to the youngsters so loud and so sweet , The far distant hum of the children at play , And the maiden's soft carol at close of the day , — Ah ! this was the music delighted my ear , And to think of it now is so sad and so dear ! Ah ! to listen again , by mine own cottage door , To the sound of mine own native village once more ! I knew every dame in her holy-day airs ; I knew every maiden that danced at our fairs ; I knew every farmer to market who came , And the dog that ran after him called by its name . And who know I now in this far distant land , But the stiff collared sergeant , and red-coated band ? No kinsman to comfort his own flesh and blood ; No merry eyed damsel to do my heart good ! To mine eye or mine ear no gay cheering e'er comes , But the flare of our colours , the tuck of our drums ; The fierce flashing steel of our long mustered file , And the sharp shrilly fifers a-playing the while . At night , as I keep on the wearisome watch , The sound of the west wind I greedily catch , Then the shores of dear Ireland will rise to my sight , And mine own native valley , that spot of delight ! Divided so far by a wide stormy main Shall I ever return to our valley again ? Ah ! to listen at ease by mine own cottage door , To the sound of mine own native village once more !