Explore "Songs of The Glens of Antrim" by Moira O´Neill on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I mind meself a wee boy wi' no plain talk, / An' standin' not the height o' two peats; / There was things meself consated 'or the time that I could walk, / An' who's to tell when wit an' childer meets? / 'Twas the daisies down in the low grass, / The stars high up in the skies, / The first I knowed of a mother's face / Wi' the kind love in her eyes, / Och, och! / The kind love in her eyes.
I went the way of other lads that's neither good nor bad, / An' still, d'ye see, a lad has far to go; / But the things meself consated when I wasn't sick nor sad, / They're aisy told, an' little use to know. / 'Twas whiles a boat on the say beyont, / An' whiles a girl on the shore, / An' whiles a scrape o' the fiddle-strings, / Or maybe an odd thing more / In troth! / Maybe an odd thing more.