3
My life had been a wilderness,
Unbless’d by fortune’s gale,
Had fate not link’d my lot with hers,
The Rose of Allandale.
———
O did you not hear of Kate Kearney ?
She lives on the banks of Killarney ;
From the glance of her eye, shun danger and fly,
For fatal’s the glance of Kate Kearney.
For that eye is so modestly beaming,
You’d ne’er think of mischief she’s dreaming,
Yet, oh ! I can’t tell how fatal’s the spell
That lurks in the eye of Kate Kearney.
Oh, should you e’er meet this Kate Kearney,
Who lives on the banks of Killarney,
Beware of her smile, for many a wile
Lies hid in the bosom of Kate Kearney.
Though she looks so bewitchingly simple.
There’s mischief in every dimple ;
And who dare inhale her mouth’s spicy gale,
Must die by the breath of Kate Kearney.
———
O! wonders sure, will never cease,
While works of art do so increase ;
