Mary on the footpath ramble


Mary on the footpath ramble
And enjoy the sunday morn
O'er the pasture hung wi' bramble
And the ploughed grounds green with corn
Where the lark is just a rising
From its nest among the grain
And all other cares despising
Sings its happy songs again
While years alas! now intervene
Since we wandered o'er the green


Then I sought the ground-larks nest
And its eggs I showed to thee
Pluck't the wild flower for thy breast
And the burdock from thy knee
That clung unto thy sunday gown
As through the cover we did go
Where the monument looks down
On the golden gorse below
And shows its bright and golden flowers
Like sunshine in sweet summer hours —


We passed the thicket then again
Took the wicket to the road
Where we my love did entertain
Ourselves with beauties all abroad
The wild flower and the meadow bee
Such as My Mary never stings
The butterfly, o'er land and lea
For Mary would not stretch its wings
She'd hurt not snail, nor kill a fly
But love all life beneath the sky


The clouds were high and light as wool
Some like feathers in a heap
The awthorn shadows sweet and cool
Hung o'er the spot where rest the sheep
Here we formed plans for future joy
And framed our path of life
Here we watched the hours go by
And first I called you wife
But wife, and home, and children dear
Are lost to me while I am here
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