Classic Poem

An Irish Fairy lost her way;
Of course she could not find it.
She was so debonnair and gay,
She vow'd she did not mind it.
And far too vain to speak of pain,
Or own to fear's dominion,
She sang of you, Donnel Aboo,
As happy as a Fenian!

Sure all her ancestors were kings,
Who ruled and reign'd and thunder'd;
And, if you talk'd of fifty things,
She'd gabble of a hundred!
She'd fun galore, and plenty more,
She was so bright and tricksy;
She liked a pig, an Irish pig,
And just a dhrop of whisky!

She was not fond of water, though,
And thought rags cool and pleasant;
She had no call to work, you know —
Would rather play at present.
And heads she'd break at fair and wake,
And hearts too very gaily;
And if you spoke of John Bull's oak,
She'd flourish Pat's shillaly!

She snigger'd at the big Police,
The craytures, they'll not hurt you!
And swans she made of all her geese,
Of all her faults a virtue.
In debt to run is only fun,
To drink is only jolly;
A little lie is 'cute and sly,
And telling truth a folly.

And are there other countries, then?
(Och! Ireland grand and great is!);
And have they women there, and men,
And whisky, punch, and praties?
Of this she's sure, that rich or poor,
Or honest folks or rogues, oh!
Sorra a bit can one be fit
To tie ould Ireland's brogues, oh!

She wander'd on, she wander'd on.
And still she kept her eyes on
The place she'd set her heart upon —
And that was the horizon.
She murmur'd, " Oh, if on I go,
Unheeding gates and hedges,
I'm sure that I must touch the sky,
And stand upon the edges!"

And if you think the notion queer,
Remember, she was Irish;
And on she went, poor little dear,
Till she was rather tiredish!
Her shoes (a pair) she held with care —
Her feet, you see, don't need 'em;
For Irish shoes are not for use,
And Irish feet like freedom.

She went so far, that all the trees
Were made of cherry-brandy,
And all the little pods of peas
Held drops of sugar-candy,
And every well contain'd Moselle,
And all the rivers sherry,
And eggs were made of marmalade —
A charming country, very.

She reach'd the land where sea is earth,
And earth is only water;
And people banquet on a dearth,
And lives are saved by slaughter;
And dwarfs are tall, and giants small,
And rascals bow demurely.
She said, " Perhaps I know these chaps;
I've seen this country, surely."

She came to where the sky rains cats
And dogs, to drown the miller;
And, in their mouths, the little brats
Are born with spoons of siller.
And if you speak about next week,
You'll find yourself pitch'd in it;
And no one knows how money goes,
But still you do not win it.

Her shoes she carries in her hands
(Not one of them she tries on);
And on she goes through lands and lands
— She reaches the horizon!
She's there at last! Her heart beats fast —
Oh, what will she discover?
She's on the ledge — the very edge;
And then — she tumbles over!