True Love Can Ne'er Forget

by Turlough Carolan (1670-1738)

"True love can ne'er forget;
Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet,
My darling one!"
Thus sung a minstrel gray
His sweet impassion'd lay,
Down by the Ocean's spray,
At set of sun.
But wither'd was the minstrel's sight,
Morn to him was dark as night,
Yet his heart was full of light,
As thus the lay begun:
"True love can ne'er forget;
Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet,
My darling one!

"Long years are past and o'er,
Since from this fatal shore
Cold hearts and cold winds bore
My love from me."
Scarcely the minstrel spoke,
When forth, with flashing stroke,
A boat's light oar the silence broke,
Over the sea.
Soon upon her native strand
Doth a lovely lady land,
While the minstrel's love-taught hand
Did o'er his wild harp run:
"True love can ne'er forget;
Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet
My darling one!"

Where the minstrel sat alone,
There that lady fair had gone,
Within his hand she placed her own.
The bard dropp'd on his knee!
>From his lips soft blessings came,
He kiss'd her hand with truest flame,
In trembling tones he names - HER name,
Though her he could not see;
But oh! - the touch the bard could tell
Of that dear hand, remember'd well
. Ah! - by many a secret spell
Can true love find his own;
For true love can ne'er forget;
Fondly as when they met,
He loved his lady yet,
His darling one! by http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~irelandlist/poems.html#truelove

The Legend of Ireland's Magic Harp

In the misty hills of Ireland
A long, long time ago,
There lived a lovely Irish lass
Who loved her father so.

One day he went to fetch some wood,
But he did not soon return,
And so his loving daughter's heart
Was filled with great concern.

She searched for him throughout the day,
And when a fog came in
She wept, for she was fearful
They would never meet again.

Then suddenly, a little band
Of leprechauns came by.
They all were very saddened.
To hear the lovely maiden cry.

They asked if they might have a lock
Of her long and golden hair,
Then tied the silken strands across
A crooked limb with care.

'Twas a magic harp they'd made,
And when the maiden touched each strand,
The music led her father home
Across the misty land.

And to this day the harp remains
A cherished symbol of
The blessings of the hearth and home
The Irish dearly love. More at:http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~irelandlist/poems.html#harp