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An' she thried hard to spake； but the words wouldn't come；
For the sound of his voice； as he stood there fornint her；
Wint could on her heart as the night wind in winther。
An' the tears in her blue eyes stood tremblin' to flow；
And pale was her cheek as the moonshine on snow；
Then the heart of bould Phaudhrig swelled high in its place；
For he knew； by one look in that beautiful face；
That though sthrangers an' foemen their pledged hands might
sever；
Her true heart was his； and his only； for ever。
An' he lifted his voice； like the agle's hoarse call；
An' says Phaudhrig； 〃She's mine still； in spite of yez all！〃
Then up jumped O'Hanlon； an' a tall boy was he；
An' he looked on bould Phaudhrig as fierce as could be；
An' says he； 〃By the hokey！ before you go out；
Bould Phaudhrig Crohoore； you ；must fight for a bout。〃
Then Phaudhrig made answer： 〃I'll do my endeavour；〃
An' with one blow he stretched bould O'Hanlon for ever。
In his arms he took Kathleen； an' stepped to the door；
And he leaped on his horse； and flung her before；
An' they all were so bother'd； that not a man stirred
Till the galloping hoofs on the pavement were heard。
Then up they all started； like bees in the swarm；
An' they riz a great shout； like the burst of a storm；
An' they roared； and they ran； and they shouted galore；
But Kathleen and Phaudhrig they never saw more。
'But them days are gone by； an' he is no more；
An' the green…grass is growin' o'er Phaudhrig Crohoore；
For he couldn't be aisy or quiet at all；
As he lived a brave boy； he resolved so to fall。
And he took a good pikefor Phaudhrig was great
And he fought； and he died in the year ninety…eight。
An' the day that Crohoore in the green field was killed；
A sthrong boy was sthretched； and a sthrong heart was stilled。'
It is due to the memory of Finley to
say that the foregoing ballad； though bearing
throughout a strong resemblance to Sir
Walter Scott's 'Lochinvar；' was nevertheless
composed long before that spirited
production had seen the light。
End