The Irish Erin Grant’s Lament.

The Irish Erin Grant’s Lament.
543.5

I’m sitting on the stile, Mary.
Where we sat side by side:
On a bright May morning long ago,
When årst you were my belde.
The corn wus springing fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud and high,
And the red was on your cheek,
Mary, And ho love light in your eye.

The place is little changed, Mary.
The day’s as bright as then:
The lark’s loud song is in my car.
And the corn is green again.
But I miss the soft clasp of your band,
And your warm breath en ray check
And I still keep listening for the words
You never more may speak.

‘Tis but a step down yonder lane.
The village church stands near
The church where we were wed, Mary,
I see the spira from hore.
But the graveyard lies between Mary,
And my stepenight break your you rest,
For I’ve laid you, dacting, down to sleep
With your baby on your breast.

I’m very lonely now, Mars,
For the poor make no new friends.
But, oh, they love the better still,
The low the Father sends:
And you were all I had. Mary.
My blossing and my pride,
There’s nothing left to care for now,
Since my poor Mary died.