In Other Words/The Exile of Erin
The Exile of Erin
(Mr. Thomas Campbell’s heirs are apologized to.)
There came to the flat a poor exile of Erin, Her brogue was as thick as a shamrock purée,The calico dress that our Maggie was wearin’ Was ragged as army flags all shot away;She was timid and meek, she would stand without hitchin’;She labored all day in the hot little kitchen;She washed and she ironed and hummed most bewitchin’, The beautiful anthem of Erin go bragh.
All friendless and lonely was Maggie O’Ryan, No sweethearts there came her lone heart to beguile;Yet cheerful and gladsome, nor sobbin’ nor sighin’, For friends that were left in the Emerald Isle;No threnody hers for the land she was born in;She always arose before six in the mornin’,And sang the sweet strains of her “Erin Mavourneen”— The minor melodics of Erin go bragh.
Alas, as the poet declares, Tempus fidgets! ’Tis only a month since she came to our shore.But since she’s met Norahs and Katies and Bridgets, Ochone! our acushla is happy no more!She started to work for a weekly three-fifty;But now she gets seven, her habits are thrifty.Her dress it is faultless and stylishly nifty— And Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturdays out.