BINDIN’ THE OATS.

Bindin’ the oats in sweet September, Don’t you remember That evening, dear? Ah! but you bound my heart complately, Fair and nately, Snug in the snood of your silken hair! Swung the sickles, you followed after With musical laughter And witchin’ eye. I tried to reap, but each swathe I took, love, Spoiled the stook, love, For your smile had bothered my head awry! Such an elegant, graceful binder, Where could I find her All Ireland through? Worn’t the stout, young, strappin’ fellows Fairly jealous, Dyin’, asthore machree, for you? Talk o’ Persephone pluckin’ the posies, Or the red roses, In Henna’s plain! You wor sweeter, with cheeks so red, love, And beautiful head, love, Gatherin’ up the golden grain. Bindin’ the oats in sweet September, Don’t you remember The stolen pogue?[60] How could I help but there deliver My heart for ever To such a beautiful little rogue? Bindin’ the oats, ’twas there you found me, There you bound me That harvest day! Ah! that I in your blessed bond, love, Fair and fond, love, Happy, for ever and ever, stay! Patrick J. Coleman.