SHANE GLAS.

If you saw Shane Glas as he tramped to the fair, With his fresh white shirt and his neat combed hair, You’d never believe what a rake went by; Why the girls—however he’s won them—the rogue— Love the ground that is touched by the sole of his brogue, And they follow him, ’spite of the old people’s cry— “Sludhering Shawn, deludhering Shawn, Whose blarneying lies might a warship float, Let the girls alone, you big vagabone, Or soon they’ll have reason to cry, ‘Ochone,’ Go home I say, there’s a rogue in your coat.” He met Sally one day at the market town, With her neat blacked shoes and her dimity gown, And never dreamt she what a rake was nigh; He whispered soft nothings, he pleaded with sighs, Praised her red glowing cheek, her round breasts, her blue eyes, And, O maid of the mountain, he left her to cry— “Sludhering Shawn, soothering Shawn, Traitor, on whom all the girls still doat, Sal, Peggy, and Sue have reason to rue The day they beheld your bright eyes of blue, And your swaggering gait, and the rogue in your coat.” Translated from the Irish by J. J. Bourke.