by Moses Teggart, Springfield, Mass. Sept. 11, 1898

The buttercups were sleepin' sound
The ragweeds they were dozin'
An' in the grazing all aroun'
The daisies' eyes were closin'.
The blades o' grass wi' dew were wet,
The lark the sky was leavin'
When walkin' out, by chance I met
The belle of Derrykeevin.

O, if blue eyes an' blushin' cheeks,
An' sweet words sweetly spoken,
An' bashful glances when she speaks,
A bonnie lass betoken, - 
Then she who there before me stood,
Wi' bosom gently heavin'
Might well be in that neighbourhood -
The belle of Derrykeevin.
We listened to the tricklin' rill
That through the sheugh was flowin'
The star of evenin' glowin'.
One slender han' when I had foun'-
The fingers smooth with weavin',
Then of itself my arm went roun'
The belle of Derrykeevin.

Her lips were like the buddin' pinks
When in the dews they're sleepin'
Her eyes like stars when through the chinks
Of inky clouds they're peepin'
No thoughts had we of rainy days,
Of grumblin' or of grievin',
No thought had I, but still to praise
The belle of Derrykeevin.
We wadered by the hawthorn hedge,
An' down the sally loanin',
And every soft kiss was a pledge
That come what might - disownin'
All fooly talk an blethers rife,
An' foolish make-believin',
I'd love an' cherish as my life
The belle of Derrykeevin.

An' now - however long the day, 
However hard my labour,
I still have a kind word to say
To every thrifty neighbour.
An' when they bear me whistlin' sweet
When light the sky is leavin'
They know right well I'm goin' to meet
The belle of Derrykeevin.


The Belle of Clonmakate

The Belle of Derryaghs

A Birches Boy

Bonnie Mary of Drumcree

Coney Island

Dead at The Birches

Down in Maghery


Lillian Martin

The Lily of Lough Neagh

The Turf Bummer

The Turf Cutter

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