MAIRE BAN ASTOR (FAIR MARY, MY TREASURE) by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS

I.

IN a valley, far away,
With my @3Maire bhan a stuir@1,
Short would be the summer-day,
Ever loving more and more;
Winter-days would all grow long,
With the light her heart would pour,
With her kisses and her song,
And her loving @3maith go leor@1.
Fond is @3Maire bhan a stoir@1,
Fair is @3Maire bhan a stoir@1,
Sweet as ripple on the shore,
Sings my @3Maire bhan a stoir@1.

II.

Oh! her sire is very proud,
And her mother cold as stone;
But her brother bravely vowed
She should be my bride alone;
For he knew I loved her well,
And he knew she loved me too,
So he sought their pride to quell,
But 'twas all in vain to sue.
True is @3Maire bhan a stoir@1,
Tried is @3Maire bhan a stoir@1,
Had I wings I'd never soar,
From my @3Maire bhan a stoir@1.

III.

There are lands where manly toil
Surely reaps the crop it sows,
Glorious woods and teeming soil,
Where the broad Missouri flows;
Through the trees the smoke shall rise,
From our hearth with @3maith go leor@1,
There shall shine the happy eyes
Of my @3Maire bhan a stoir@1.
Mild is @3Maire bhan a stoir@1,
Mine is @3Maire bhan a stoir@1,
Saints will watch about the door,
Of my @3Maire bhan a stoir@1.

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