I thank you for the patient smile When your heart was fit to break, When the hunger pain was gnawin' there, And you hid it for _my_ sake; I bless you for the pleasant word, When your heart was sad and sore-- O! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, Where grief can't reach you more! I'm biddin' you a long farewell, My Mary--kind and true! But I'll not forget _you_, darling, In the land I'm goin' to: They say there's bread and work for all, And the sun shines always there-- But I'll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair! And often in those grand old woods I'll sit and shut my eyes, And my heart will travel back again To the place where Mary lies; And I'll think I see the little stile Where we sat side by side, And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn, When first you were my bride. _Lady Dufferin_ THE WELSHMEN OF TIRAWLEY Scorney Bwee, the Barretts' bailiff, lewd and lame, To lift the Lynott's taxes when he came, Rudely drew a young maid to him! Then the Lynotts rose and slew him, And in Tubber-na-Scorney threw him-- Small your blame, Sons of Lynott! Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. Then the Barretts to the Lynotts gave a choice, Saying, 'Hear, ye murderous brood, men and boys, Choose ye now, without delay, Will ye lose your eyesight, say, Or your manhoods, here to-day? Sad your choice, Sons of Lynott! Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. Then the little boys of the Lynotts, weeping, said, 'Only leave us our eyesight in our head.' But the bearded Lynotts then Quickly answered back again, 'Take our eyes, but leave us men, Alive or dead, Sons of Wattin!' Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. So the Barretts with sewing-needles sharp and smooth, Let the light out of the eyes of every youth, And of every bearded man, Of the broken Lynott clan; Then their darkened faces wan Turning south To the river-- Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. O'er the slippery stepping-stones of Clochan-na-n'all They drove them, laughing loud at every fall, As their wandering footsteps dark Failed to reach the slippery mark, And the swift stream swallowed stark, One and all As they stumbled-- From the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. Of all the blinded Lynotts one alone Walk'd erect from stepping-stone to stone: So back again they brought you, And a second time they wrought you With their needles; but never got you Once to groan, Emon Lynott, For the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.