Classic Poem

One Sunday morning, into Youghal walking,
I met a maiden upon the way;
Her little mouth sweet as fairy music,
Her soft cheek blushing like dawn of day!
I laid a bold hand upon her bosom,
And ask'd a kiss: but she answer'd, “No:
Fair sir, be gentle; do not tear my mantle;
'Tis none in Erin my grief can know.

“'Tis but a little hour since I left Youghal,
And my love forbade me to return;
And now my weary way I wander
Into Cappoquin, a poor girl forlorn:
Then do not tempt me; for, alas I dread them
Who with tempting proffers teach girls to roam
Who'd first deceive us, then faithless leave us,
And send us shame-faced and bare-foot home.”

“My heart and hand here! I mean you marriage!
I have loved like you and known love's pain;
And if you turn back now to Youghal Harbour,
You ne'er shall want house or home again:
You shall have a lace cap like any lady,
Cloak and capuchin, too, to keep you warm,
And if God pleases, maybe, a little baby,
By and by, to nestle within your arm.”