The Poetical Works of Jonathan E. Hoag/The Celtic's Dream of His Erin Home

by Jonathan E. Hoag

The Celtic's Dream of His Erin Home

In me dhr'reams iv dear Ould Ireland,
  Phwin the shanty's shtill and dark,
Thin me hear'rt goes o'er the ocean,
  An' I lishten to the lar'rk.

I sees me mother'r an' the chilther'r,
  An' the goat arrount the door,
An' I shmells the shamrock blossoms,
  As I often did before.

Thin I'm dhreamin iv me Colleen
  An' me jantin car so shlow,
An' I hear the donkey clathrin,
  Phwin to Dublin phair we go.

Ah the shamrock an' the willows,
  An' the Bay iv Ould Thiralee,
An' the rocky hills iv Kerry
  Phware the heather blossoms free.

Ah, Killarrney, an' Kilkenny,
  Ah, the shamrock an' the rose,
Phwar're the ger'rls can dance a hornpipe,
  'Till the mor'rnin r'roster crows.

Ah the Colleens in Ould Banthry,
  How they dance the Irish reel,
Wid their rose lips an' black thresses,
  Shur're me hear'rt they'd like to shteal.

A bould Irish Tip was me father,
  An' me mother was the same,
How he cud twirrl his shtick of blackthorn
  Phwin an Or'rangeman there came.

Shweet an' paceful is the avenin,
  Phwin the childher'r ar're in bed,
An' the goat an' little donkey,
  An' the piggy in the shed.

Thin me father takes his fiddle
  That's a hangin' on the wall,
An' me modther knits a shtockin
  Phwile the cat plays wid the ball.

Thin he schr'rapes the sthr'rings so squeaky
  An' he taps the kitchen floor,
An' his head it goes a-bobbin
  Like the ducks ar'round the door.

Ah, me dhr'reams iv dear Ould Ireland,
  An the shanty thach'd wid sthraw,
An' the lakes iv Old Killar'rney,
  An' the berries iv the haw!

An' the hunthers an' the jockeys,
  An' poor reynard on the run,
An' I sees thim leep the hedges,
  At the sinkin iv the sun.

Now the childher ar're all scatthered;
  An' the shanty's tumplet down,
An' the goat an' donkey slumber
  'Neath the heather sere and brown.

Now me father an' me mother,
  Lie beyant the roolin s'a,
Phware the shamrock shtar'rs the greensward
  On the shore iv Banthry Bay.

Now me hair is gettin phwither,
  An' me Colleen's bending mor're
As we watch the curlin shmoke sthreams
  Phwin we sit beside the door.

An' we watch the blazin turf fire,
  An' me Colleen sittin near,
Phwin she sees the wooden cr'radle
  Thin she hides a little tear.

1917.