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no ſtrings of freſh daiſes hung looſe on her neck, While with pity I gaz'd, the exclaim'do my Mother, See the blood on that laſin, 'tis the blood of my brothers; They hare torn his poor fleſh, they bow frip another, Tis Connor, the friend of poor Mary le More.

Who' his locks were as white at the foam of the ocean, Thoſe wretches ſhall find that my father is brave, My father!' fhe cry'd with the wildeſt emotion, Ah! mo, my poor father new leeps in his grave: They have tolled his death bell, they've laid the turf o'er him, His white locks were bloody, no aid could reſtore him; 02 He is gone! he is gone and the good will deplore him, Then the blue wave of Erin bides Mary le More.

lark from the gold bloſſom'd furze that grew near her, ow roſe, and with energy carrol'd his lay: Huſh, huſh!' ſhe continued, 'the trumpet ſounds clearer; the horſemen approach: Erin's daughters away. h ſoldiers! 'twas foul while the cabin was burning, and o'er a pale father a wretch had been mourning- hide with the ſea-mew, ye maids, and take warning, oſe ruffians have ruin'd poor Mary le More.

Away! bring the ointment! O Godǃ ſee the gaſhes!