THE IRISH EMIGRANT'S SONG.
FOR MUSIC.
Alone—amid the darkening woods I hear them lightly pass,
And in the twilight little feet come stealing o'er the grass;
Kind voices rise when all is still, and call me by my name.
And pleasant faces look on me from out the Pine wood flame:
Oh! my Brothers and my Sisters, how I miss you here alone!
Oh, Father and my Mother dear, do you think upon your own?
Who prays for you each night and morn[1]—Och hone! Och hone!
Thinking on the days that are long enough agone!
And in the twilight little feet come stealing o'er the grass;
Kind voices rise when all is still, and call me by my name.
And pleasant faces look on me from out the Pine wood flame:
Oh! my Brothers and my Sisters, how I miss you here alone!
Oh, Father and my Mother dear, do you think upon your own?
Who prays for you each night and morn[1]—Och hone! Och hone!
Thinking on the days that are long enough agone!
- ↑ The burden of this song is that of a very ancient Irish ditty.—See Lockhart's Life of Scott.
