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Soldiers & sailors

Mary-le More

(10) Mary-le More

[NLS note: a graphic appears here – see image of page]

      Mary-le more

J. Pitts Printer, and Wholesale Toy Ware
houſe 6, Great st Andrew Street 7 Dials

As I stray d o'er a common on Cork's rugged bor-
                            der,                                  (ray'd
While the dew drops of morn the sweet Primrose ar-
I saw a poor female whose mental disorder,
Her quick glancing eye and wild aspect betray'd
On the sward she reclin'd by green fern surrounded,
At her feet speckled daises & crow flowers abounded
To the inmost recess her poor heart had been wounded
Her sighs were unceasing it was Mary-le-More

Her charms by the keen blast of sorrow was faded
Yet the soft tint of beauty still play'd on her cheek;
A trases a wreath of pale primroses braded,
And strings of fresh daisies hung loose on her neck
While in pity I gaz'd she exclaim'd oh my mother
See the blood on that lash 'tis the blood of my brother
They have torn his poor flesh & they now strip another
'Tis Conner the friend of poor Mary-le-more,

Tho' his locks are as white as the foam of the ocean,
These soldiers shall find that my father is brave
My father she cry'd with the wildest emotion.
Ah no no my poor father now sleeps in his grave
They have toll'd his death bell they have laid the turf
                          o'er him,
His white locks where bloody no aid would restore him
He is gone he is gone and the good will deplore him,
When the blue waves of Erin hides Mary-le more

A lark frrm the gold blossom'd urze that grew near
Now rose and with energy carrol'd the lay, (her
Hush, hush, she continued the trumpet sound clearer
The horseman approoach. Erin's daughter away,
Ah soldiers, 'twas ſoul while the cottage was burning,
And o'er her pale father a wretch had been mourning,
Go hide with the sea wew, ye maid and take warning
These ruffians have ruined poor Mary-le-More,

Thus roar'd the poor maniac in tone more heart rend.
                  ing.
Then fancy's voice ever pour'd on my ear,
When lo e en the waste they march toward her bed.
A fierce troop of cavalry came to appear;       (ding,
Oh, the fiends, she exclaim'd and with wild horror
                  started,                                       (darted,
Then through the fell fern loudly streaming she
With bosom o'er charged then I slowly departed,
And sigh'd for the wrongs of poor Mary-le-More

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