Explore "Songs of The Glens of Antrim" by Moira O´Neill on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The night when last I saw my lad / His eyes were bright an' wet. / He took my two hands in his own, / "Tis well," says he, "we're met. / "Asthore machree!" the likes o' me / I bid ye now forget."
Ah, sure the same's a thriflin' thing, / 'Tis more I'd do for him! / I mind the night I promised well, / Away on Ballindim. -- / An' every little while or so / I thry forgettin' Jim.