Ballads in Prose

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Roberts Brothers, 1894 - Children's poetry - 186 pages
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Page 91 - TIS I go fiddling, fiddling, By weedy ways forlorn : I make the blackbird's music Ere in his breast 'tis born ; The sleeping larks I waken 'Twi.xt the midnight and the morn. No man alive has seen me, But women hear me play Sometimes at door or window, Fiddling the souls away — The child's soul and the colleen's — Out of the covering clay.
Page 97 - All the way to Tir na n'Og are many roads that run, But the darkest road is trodden by the King of Ireland's son. The world wears on to sundown, and love is lost and won, But he recks not of loss or gain, the King of Ireland's son.

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