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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420546" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Kathleen</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Norah, lay your basket down,<br>And rest your weary hand,<br>And come and hear me sing a song<br>Of our old Ireland.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was a lord of Galaway,<br>A mighty lord was he;<br>And he did wed a second wife,<br>A maid of low degree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But he was old, and she was young,<br>And so, in evil spite,<br>She baked the black bread for his kin,<br>And fed her own with white.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She whipped the maids and starved the kern,<br>And drove away the poor;<br>'Ah, woe is me!' the old lord said,<br>'I rue my bargain sore!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This lord he had a daughter fair,<br>Beloved of old and young,<br>And nightly round the shealing-fires<br>Of her the gleeman sung.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'As sweet and good is young Kathleen<br>As Eve before her fall;'<br>So sang the harper at the fair,<br>So harped he in the hall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh, come to me, my daughter dear!<br>Come sit upon my knee,<br>For looking in your face, Kathleen,<br>Your mother's own I see!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He smoothed and smoothed her hair away,<br>He kissed her forehead fair;<br>'It is my darling Mary's brow,<br>It is my darling's hair!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, then spake up the angry dame,<br>'Get up, get up,' quoth she,<br>'I'll sell ye over Ireland,<br>I'll sell ye o'er the sea!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She clipped her glossy hair away,<br>That none her rank might know;<br>She took away her gown of silk,<br>And gave her one of tow,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And sent her down to Limerick town<br>And to a seaman sold<br>This daughter of an Irish lord<br>For ten good pounds in gold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lord he smote upon his breast,<br>And tore his beard so gray;<br>But he was old, and she was young,<br>And so she had her way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sure that same night the Banshee howled<br>To fright the evil dame,<br>And fairy folks, who loved Kathleen,<br>With funeral torches came.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She watched them glancing through the trees,<br>And glimmering down the hill;<br>They crept before the dead-vault door,<br>And there they all stood still!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Get up, old man! the wake-lights shine!'<br>'Ye murthering witch,' quoth he,<br>'So I'm rid of your tongue, I little care<br>If they shine for you or me.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh, whoso brings my daughter back,<br>My gold and land shall have!'<br>Oh, then spake up his handsome page,<br>'No gold nor land I crave!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'But give to me your daughter dear,<br>Give sweet Kathleen to me,<br>Be she on sea or be she on land,<br>I'll bring her back to thee.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'My daughter is a lady born,<br>And you of low degree,<br>But she shall be your bride the day<br>You bring her back to me.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He sailed east, he sailed west,<br>And far and long sailed he,<br>Until he came to Boston town,<br>Across the great salt sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh, have ye seen the young Kathleen,<br>The flower of Ireland?<br>Ye'll know her by her eyes so blue,<br>And by her snow-white hand!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Out spake an ancient man, 'I know<br>The maiden whom ye mean;<br>I bought her of a Limerick man,<br>And she is called Kathleen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'No skill hath she in household work,<br>Her hands are soft and white,<br>Yet well by loving looks and ways<br>She doth her cost requite.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So up they walked through Boston town,<br>And met a maiden fair,<br>A little basket on her arm<br>So snowy-white and bare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Come hither, child, and say hast thou<br>This young man ever seen?'<br>They wept within each other's arms,<br>The page and young Kathleen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh give to me this darling child,<br>And take my purse of gold.'<br>'Nay, not by me,' her master said,<br>'Shall sweet Kathleen be sold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'We loved her in the place of one<br>The Lord hath early ta'en;<br>But, since her heart's in Ireland,<br>We give her back again!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, for that same the saints in heaven<br>For his poor soul shall pray,<br>And Mary Mother wash with tears<br>His heresies away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sure now they dwell in Ireland;<br>As you go up Claremore<br>Ye'll see their castle looking down<br>The pleasant Galway shore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the old lord's wife is dead and gone,<br>And a happy man is he,<br>For he sits beside his own Kathleen,<br>With her darling on his knee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420546" data-title="Kathleen de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="O Norah, lay your basket down,
And rest your weary hand,
And come and hear me sing a song
Of our old Ireland.

There was a lord of Galaway,
A mighty lord was he;
And he did wed a second wife,
A maid of low degree.

But he was old, and she was youn..."></div>
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