My Eileen Bawn Asthore

My Eileen Bawn Asthore

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O, Peamount is a lovely place, I long to roam at will,

Where I have spent some pleasant hours—my heart’s desire still,

Spooning with those grand colleens that live in this sweet place,

And by the green-robed laurel walks my lover’s steps retrace.

Its rippling rills and valleys and fragrant bosky dells,

Its blooming verdant pastures, where nature beauteous dwells;

The joy bells of famed Cellbridge so animates the soul,

’Ts the nicest spot on earth—a paradise console.

’Twas in this place her smiling face first took my fancy on,

I’m still in durance vile all through this charming one;

“Will she but name,” thus crown my blighted life,

And be my guardian angel and fond devoted wife.

Down to the West, my native home, I’m not inclined to go,

I dare not leave Peamount yet—all in my grief and woe;

My nymph divine, so grand and fine, I fondly linger near,

Though she has made no promise to calm my growing fear.

In some foreign land I’ll try my hand a fortune for to make,

The cause of my affection, it’s all for her dear sake;

I hope she’ll prove true to me when I return once more,

And clasp her to my bosom—my Eileen Bawn Asthore.

                                       William Rush

               The Brook, Ardnaree, Ballina.