His kinsmen are honest and kind, The neighbours think much of his skill, And Eoghan's the lad to my mind, Though he owns neither castle nor mill. But he has a tilloch of land, A horse, and a stocking of coin, A foot for a dance, and a hand In the cause of his country to join. Then, Oh! the marriage, etc. IV. We meet in the market and fair-- We meet in the morning and night-- He sits on the half of my chair, And my people are wild with delight; Yet I long through the winter to skim, Though Eoghan longs more I can see, When I will be married to him, And he will be married to me. Then, Oh! the marriage, the marriage, With love and _mo bhuachaill_ for me, The ladies that ride in a carriage, Might envy my marriage to me. --------------------------------------------------------------- [84] _Vulgo_, Owen, a name frequent among the Cymry (Welsh). THE BOATMAN OF KINSALE. AIR--_An Cota Caol._ I. His kiss is sweet, his word is kind, His love is rich to me; I could not in a palace find A truer heart than he. The eagle shelters not his nest From hurricane and hail, More bravely than he guards my breast-- The Boatman of Kinsale. II. The wind that round the Fastnet sweeps Is not a whit more pure-- The goat that down Cnoc Sheehy leaps Has not a foot more sure. No firmer hand nor freer eye E'er faced an autumn gale-- De Courcy's heart is not so high-- The Boatman of Kinsale. III. The brawling squires may heed him not, The dainty stranger sneer-- But who will dare to hurt our cot When Myles O'Hea is here? The scarlet soldiers pass along; They'd like, but fear to rail; His blood is hot, his blow is strong-- The Boatman of Kinsale. IV. His hooker's in the Scilly van When seines are in the foam; But money never made the man, Nor wealth a happy home. So, blest with love and liberty, While he can trim a sail, He'll trust in God, and cling to me-- The Boatman of Kinsale. LOVE AND WAR. I. How soft is the moon on Glengariff, The rocks seem to melt with the light: Oh! would I were there with dear Fanny, To tell her that love is as bright; And nobly the sun of July O'er the waters of Adragoole shines-- Oh! would that I saw the green banner Blaze there over conquering lines. II. Oh! love is more fair than the moonlight, And glory more grand than the sun: And there is no rest for a brave heart, Till its bride and its laurels are won; But next to the burst of our banner, And the smile of dear Fanny, I crave The moon on the rocks of Glengariff-- The sun upon Adragoole's wave. MY LAND. I. She is a rich and rare land; Oh! she's a fresh and fair land; She is a dear and rare land-- This native land of mine. II. No men than her's are braver-- Her women's hearts ne'er waver; I'd freely die to save her, And think my lot divine. III.