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Show The Ould Lad o' the Bells. " Hark! The bell o St. Mark. How it molthers the air! sure, l can t un ersiana All the bells In this land I declare But it's quare Whin the bells o'er the sea are so joyous joy-ous an' grand. Now whin I was a boy, By the town o' Clonmel, I drank nothln' but Joy From the rim of a bell. Was it rung for two wed. Was It summons to prayer. Was it tolled for wan dead. Still the music was there; Every hillside an' glen Every hollow an glade Rang agen an' agen Wid the echoes it made, An' the good folk that trod To the call o' the bell Gave a "Glory to God!" For whatever befell. Don't I mind bless me soul! Me a wee curly head How we heard the bells toll Whin O'Connell was dead? I can, mind that sam day, Ave! I see mesel well As I stopped in me play At the sound o' the bell; An' I hold in me ear All its music that's past, Tho' it's sixty-two year Since I heard it the last. For I can't live it down, An' I hear it ring yet O'er the bells o' this town, Wid their tears an' regret-Hark! regret-Hark! The bell o St, Mark. How it molthers the air! Sure, It ought to .be gay, 'Tis a weddln', they say I "declare But It's quare. Whin the bells o'er the sea are so Joy-our Joy-our alway. T. A. Daly. |