Samuel Lover. 1797-1868.
A baby was sleeping,
Its mother was weeping.
The Angel's Whisper.
Reproof on her lips, but a smile in her eye.[582:4]
Rory O'More.
For drames always go by conthraries, my dear.[582:5]
Rory O'More.
[583]
"Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure,
For there 's luck in odd numbers,"[583:1] says Rory O'More.
Rory O'More.
There was a place in childhood that I remember well,
And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy tales did tell.
My Mother dear.
Sure the shovel and tongs
To each other belongs.
Widow Machree.
Footnotes
[582:4] See Scott, page 482.
[582:5] See Middleton, page 172.
[583:1] See Shakespeare, page 46.