Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Composite volume > Ballad poetry of Ireland

190 BALLAD POETRY
How fondly on thy little brow a mother's eye would trace,
And in thy little limbs, and in each feature of thy face,
His beauty, worth, and manliness, and every thing that's
his.
Except, my boy, the answering mark of where the fetter
is!
Oh ! many a weary hundred years his sires that fetter
wore,
And he has worn it since the day that him his mother
bore ;
And now, my son, it waits on you, the moment you are
born.
The old hereditary badge of suffering and scorn !
Alas, my boy so beautiful ! — alas, my love so brave !
And must your gallant Irish limbs still drag it to the
grave !
And you, my son, yet have a son, fore-doom'd a slave to
be,
Wliose mother still must weep o'er him the tears I weep
o'er thee !
THE MINSTREL'S WALK.
BY REV. JAMES WILLS, A.M.
Author of " Lives of lUustriotis Irislimen."
(To the old Irish air (^ " Bidh mid a got sa poga namban.")
Green hills of the west, where I carolled along,
In the May-day of life, with my harp and my song.
Though the winter of time o'er my spirit hath rolled.
And the steps of the minstrel are weary and old ;