Classic Poem

Och, what was it got me at all that time
To promise I'd marry a Rachray man?
An' now he'll not listen to rason or rhyme,
He's strivin' to hurry me all that he can.
 “Come on, an' ye be to come on!” says he,
 “Ye're bound for the Island, to live wi' me.”

See Rachray Island beyont in the bay,
An' the dear knows what they be doin' out there
But fishin' an' fightin' an' tearin' away,
An' who's to hindher, an' what do they care?
 The goodness can tell what 'ud happen to me
 When Rachray 'ud have me, anee, anee!

I might have took Pether from over the hill,
A dacent poacher, the kind poor boy;
Could I keep the ould places about me still
I'd never set foot out o' sweet Ballyvoy.
 My sorra on Rachray, the could sea-caves,
 An' blackneck divers, an' weary ould waves!

I'll never win back now, whatever may fall,
So give me good luck, for ye'll see me no more;
Sure an Island man is the mischief an' all—
An' me that never was married before!
 Oh think o' my fate when ye dance at a fair,
 In Rachray there' no Christianity there.