One evening walking out, I o’ertook a modest colleen, When the wind was blowing cool, and the harvest leaves were falling: “Is our way by chance the same? might we travel on together?” “Oh, I keep the mountain side,” she replied, “among the heather.” “Your mountain air is sweet when the days are long and sunny, When the grass grows round the rocks, and the whin-bloom smells like honey; But the winter ’s coming fast with its foggy, snowy weather, And you ’ll find it bleak and chill on your hill, among the heather.” She praised her mountain home, and I ’ll praise it too, with reason, For where Molly is there ’s sunshine and flow’rs at every season. Be the moorland black or white, does it signify a feather, Now I know the way by heart, every part, among the heather? The sun goes down in haste, and the night falls thick and stormy; Yet I ’d travel twenty miles to the welcome that ’s before me; Singing hi! for Eskydun, in the teeth of wind and weather! Love ’ll warm me as I go through the snow, among the heather.
Among the Heather
More from Poet
-
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren’t go a hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl’s feather! Down along the rocky shore Some make their home,— They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam;...
-
A Lay of Leadenhall [A singular man, named Nathaniel Bentley, for many years kept a large hardware-shop in Leadenhall Street, London. He was best know as Dirty Dick (Dick, for alliteration’s sake, probably), and his place of business as the Dirty Warehouse. He died about the year 1809. These...
-
One evening walking out, I o’ertook a modest colleen, When the wind was blowing cool, and the harvest leaves were falling: “Is our way by chance the same? might we travel on together?” “Oh, I keep the mountain side,” she replied, “among the heather.” “Your mountain air is sweet when the days are...
-
O Lovely Mary Donnelly, it ’s you I love the best! If fifty girls were round you, I ’d hardly see the rest. Be what it may the time of day, the place be where it will, Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before me still. Her eyes like mountain water that ’s flowing on a rock, How clear they...
-
I Thought it was the little bed I slept in long ago; A straight white curtain at the head, And two smooth knobs below. I thought I saw the nursery fire, And in a chair well-known My mother sat, and did not tire With reading all alone. If I should make the slightest sound To show that I...