Page:Goldfinch (1).pdf/13

13 Cold was the night-breeze that sigh'd round her bower;

ehill’dchill'd [sic] my poor Kathleen, she droop’d from that hour,

And I lost my poor Kathleen, my own little Kathleen,

My Kathleen, O.

The bird of all birds that I love the best,

the Robin that in the churchyard builds her nest,

she seems to watch Kathleen, hops lightly on Kathleen,

My Kathleen, O.

Come buy my Cherries.

buy my cherries, beauteous lasses,

from the garden pluck'd by me,

on a summers day so gay,

Sweet fruit and flowers I cry.

then, fair lassies, pray,

And of poor Sally buy

buy my roses, youthful lovers,

wave a garland for each maiden's hair.

on a summer’s day so gay,

Oh! let not pleasure fly.

then, fond lovers, pray,

And of poor Sally buy,