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Not one from Loch-Erne to Galway around,

But longs for my hero! my swain so renown'd;

Thy groves, Buninedin, are shady and fair,

They are bless'd and belov'd-for my Plunkett is there.

Hagridh cooper.

Cearbhallán ró chán,

'Y mín, máiseách, mánlá, socáir, milis, cráibhtheach,

Gán ghrukim K's Adhnáireách do ghnúis bhreágh, A rúin !

Súil zhlás Kg gáireadh, d’úr-lea̸ck is Kilne,

Súd leát ná táinte, A ghrádh dhil, Kg tnúth ;

'I fíor-dheas do ghnáóí zhlán, is leabháir do phíob zhell,

'Y cuireadh na mílte legt sínte Ann sán n-úir !

'Y tú szánnradh gách béithe, A chúil chúis ná g-cra̸ébhfholt,

'Y dlúith-dheas do dheud chaoil, K's do cheannsKcht bhrea̸gh, chiúin.

's follusách 's is léur, osnádh á g-croídhe zách Kén,

bhidheann ag Amháre scéimhe gheál-réiltionn ná m-bán;

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Oh! lov'd one how temptingly fair is that face,

On which thousands have gaz'd but to sigh;

How winningly smooth seems each motion of grace,

When thy shape of soft brightness glides by :

Tho' some in thy absence a throb may excite,

When near thee their triumph is o'er,

They shrink in thy presence-they fade in thy light,

They droop and look lovely no more.

Those brilliant grey eyes with these tresses all curl'd

That bosom where love holds his throne;

Dear! these are thy dowry for what were a world

To him who could call them his own.

'r dear do chor 's do lámh, is geal do bhrollách bán, Och! 's tú lot 's do chrádh, ná céuda Kéch meár !

A phéupla shla̸d scéimh mhná dea̸sa̸3 An t-sa̸ézháil,

'Y tá tú tláith táis á 'd mhéinn,—Acht 's éigean dámh-sa stad;

'Hois, a chuid 's « ghrídh, mo bheannacht leát do ghnáth, A Hansídh Cooper bhrea̸gh ná m-bán-chíoch n-deás.

Of millions the beauty seems blended in thee

But why on this theme should I dwell?

Thro’ life there's but sadness and silence for me

Farewell! Nancy Cooper! farewell!

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