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BONNIE MARY OF DRUMCREE by Moses Teggart, Springfield,. Mass. U.S.A. 1902 |
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| Tell me not of nymphs whose glance, Arrow-like, transfix the heart; Modest beauty me entrances More than any trick of art, Moonlight cannot make her pallid, Sunlight cannot dim her eye; Blithe she is as this my ballad, Bonnie Mary of Drumcree. In the lanes where nothing sweeter, Neater than herself is dressed, Willy wagtails run to meet her, Linnets greet her from the nest. In a voice than Cupid's cleared, Calls the throstle from the tree, "Nearer, nearer, O come nearer, Bonnie Mary of Drumcree" |
When his song the yorlin raises, 'Tis her coming to proclaim; Wren and redbreast sing her praises, Every whitewing knows her name. Single some, and some together, Bird and butterfly and bee Welcome, as they do the weather, Bonnie Mary of Drumcree. Blooms no bitter day can darken - Purple heather, heath and ling, Floweres that in the meadows hearken To the melodies of Spring; Vi'lets blue and daisies rosy, Mayflower and anemone Blossom all in Nature's posy - Bonnie Mary of Drumcree. |
Than her ruddy lip a rarer, Never tempted lover young; Than her dimpled cheek a fairer, Celtic poet never sung. Than her tresses nothing blacker Floats abundant, wild and free; - Troth! Against the world I'd back her - Bonnie Mary of Drumcree. Stand aside ye nymphs whose glances Move but never melt the heart; Modest beauty me entrances More than any trick of art. Sweeter than the op'ning blossom, More than mortal blest is he Who at dusk folds to his bosom Bonnie Mary of Drumcree. |