Push for PORTER

R
izquierdaThe Streams of Bunclodyderecha
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Oh were I at the moss house,
where the birds do increase,
At the foot of Mount Leinster
or some silent place,
By the streams of Bunclody
where all pleasures do meet,
And all I would ask is
one kiss from you, sweet.

Oh the streams of Bunclody
they flow down so free,
By the streams of Bunclody
I'm longing to be,
A-drinking strong liquor
in the height of my cheer,
Here's a health to Bunclody
and the lass I love dear.

The cuckoo is a pretty bird,
it sings as it flies,
It brings us good tidings,
and tells us no lies,
It sucks the young birds' eggs
to make its voice clear
And the more it cries cuckoo
the summer draws near.

If I was a clerk
and could write a good hand,
I would write to my true-love
that she might understand,
For I am a young fellow
who is wounded in love
Once I lived in Bunclody,
but now must remove.

If I was a lark
and had wings I could fly
I would go to yon arbour
where my love she does lie,
I'd proceed to yon arbour
where my true love does lie,
And on her fond bosom
contented I would die.

'Tis why my love slights me,
as you may understand,
That she has a freehold
and I have no land,
She has great store of riches,
and a large sum of gold,
And everything fitting
a house to uphold.

So fare you well father
and my mother, adieu
My sister and brother
farewell unto you,
I am bound for America
my fortune to try,
When I think on Bunclody,
I'm ready to die.


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