Helen Selina, Lady Dufferin Sheridan (1807–1867)

SO, my Kathleen, you’re goin’ to leave me

All alone by myself in this place,

But I’m sure you will never deceive me,

Oh no, if there’s truth in your face.

Though England’s a beautiful country

Full of iligant boys, och! what then?

You wouldn’t forget your poor Terence,

You’ll come back to ould Ireland again.

Och! them English decavers by nature!

Though maybe you’d think them sincere,

They’ll say you’re a sweet charming creature,

But don’t you belave them, my dear,

No, Kathleen, agrah, don’t be mindin’

The flatterin’ speeches they’ll make,

Just tell them a poor boy in Ireland

Is breakin’ his heart for your sake.

It’s a folly to keep you from goin’,

Though, faith! ’tis a mighty hard case;

For, Kathleen, you know there’s no knowin’

When next I may see your sweet face.

And when you come back to me, Kathleen,

None the better shall I be off then:

You’ll be spakin’ such beautiful English,

Sure I won’t know my Kathleen again.

Eh now! Where’s the need of this hurry?

Don’t fluster me so in this way;

I’ve forgot, ’twixt the grief and the flurry,

Every word I was manin’ to say.

Now just wait a minute, I bid ye—

Can I talk if you bother me so?

Och, Kathleen, my blessin’ go wid ye

Ev’ry inch of the way that you go.