“ Tho’ I am no better at all.
I still live in expectation,
Of that charming youth I adore,
I hope to my great consolation,
To meet him with joy in Dunmore.
Cheeks like the fair beauties blown,
Your summer will soon be o’er,
October winds will be blown,
And blast the sweet rose of Dunmore.
I found that her heart was failing,
As many had done before;
I hoist up my sails for Rathfriland,
And gained the sweet rose of Dunmore.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago. ”

“ Then spake the bride’s father, his hand on his sword
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word)
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young lord Lochinvar?"
"I long woo’d your daughter, my suit you denied;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs as its tide—
And now I am come with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far—
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." ”

“ Left my flock, my pipe, my crook,
⁠Greenwood shade and fountain.
Never shall I see them more,
⁠Until her returning:
All the joys of life are o'er,
⁠From gladness chang‘d to mourning
Whither is my charner flown! ”