PAT MURPHY'S MEADOW

The autumn winds are here again
and the night winds chilly grow
The woodland turns to golden hue
and the harvest moon's a-glow
To hear again of days long past,
to come no more I know
When I mowed Pat Murphy's meadow
in the sunny long ago

I see again the ocean
and the distant sails afar
As the maiden in the meadow
strikes up "Dark Lough na Gar"
There was music soft and tender
in the winds that whisper low
When I mowed Pat Murphy's meadow
in the sunny long ago

Where are the happy boys and girls
that danced the gay quadrille
Or the singer who warbled sweetly
"The Burning Granite-Mill"
To hear again at sunset
"Where Sweet Afton waters Flow"
When I mowed Pat Murphy's meadow
in the sunny long ago

Those days are but a memory
like the snows of yesteryear,
And when evening shades are falling,
all alone I shed a tear
On my cheek I feel the soft touch
of the winds that whisper low
When I mowed Pat Murphy's meadow
in the sunny long ago



Some descriptive text