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Show The Meltin' o' the Snow. " 'Tis cold th' day," said John McCann, Upon the read to Mass. The sorra word said Mary Ann, But stopped to let him pass; Fur, shure, he was the bold young man An' she the modest lass. Twas not himself that would be balked so aisily, an' so He timed his steps wid hers an' walked Beside her, through the snow. But, oh, she passed upon her way, So modest an' so prim, 'Twas little he could think to say, An' less she said to hir.i. But this he said when they were nigh The little chapel door: "A colder land, a colder sky, I have not seen before, Than this, for all its store of gold, For all it is so grand, I never knew the feel q' cold At home, in Ireland: ' But here, in these forsaken parts, The snow, the bitter storm, Creep even into Irish hearts That should be kind and warm. Oh. kind the maidens, Mary Ann, Who tread the Irish grass. This blessid day!" said John McCann, Upon the road to Mass. Small heed is where the heart is not. An' so, 'tis safe to say. 'Twas little that the pastor got From Mary Ann that day; No ears had she fur anny word But jisht that bold young man's. An", faix.' the only thing she heard Was when he read the banns For two true hearts that soon would be In happy wedlock one. Then out she passed an' home went slu Beneath the winter sun. An' knew before she turned her head Who was it walked beside. "Ye heard the banns? Ah! well," he said, "There's one has found a bride. Thank Good; fine Irish heart is sweet, Though all the one I know That makes my own lone heart to beat Is cold an' hard as snow." "But now 'tis softer, John McCann" Ochone! the modest lass "The snow, I moan," blushed Mary Ann, Upon the road from Mrss. Oh, bells were on the breeze that ran Along the buddin' grass, An Spring, on tip-toe, waved her ban' Th'-day to see them pass. When John an' Mary Ann McCann Came down the road from Mass. T. A. Daly. |
