Classic Poem

Oh , 'tis little Mary Cassidy's the cause of all my misery,
— And the raison that I am not now the boy I used to be;
Oh, she bates the beauties all that we read about in history
— And sure half the country-side is as hot for her as me.
Travel Ireland up and down, hill, village, vale and town —
— Fairer than the Cailin Donn, you're looking for in vain;
Oh, I'd rather live in poverty with little Mary Cassidy
— Than emperor, without her, be of Germany or Spain.

'Twas at the dance at Darmody's that first I caught a sight of her,
— And heard her sing the " Droighnean Donn, " till tears came in my eyes,
And ever since that blessed hour I'm dreaming day and night of her;
— The devil a wink of sleep at all I get from bed to rise.
Cheeks like the rose in June, song like the lark in tune,
— Working, resting, night or noon, she never leaves my mind;
Oh, till singing by my cabin fire sits little Mary Cassidy,
— 'Tis little aise or happiness I'm sure I'll ever find.

What is wealth, what is fame, what is all that people fight about
— To a kind word from her lips or a love-glance from her eye?
Oh, though troubles throng my breast, sure they'd soon go to the right-about
— If I thought the curly head of her would rest there by and by.
Take all I own to-day, kith, kin, and care away,
— Ship them all across the say, or to the frozen zone:
Lave me an orphan bare — but lave me Mary Cassidy,
— I never would feel lonesome with the two of us alone.