Teddy M’fane Poem by Robert Anderson

Potatoes now blossom, and gladness prevails,
The birds chaunt their love--songs throughout the green dales;
But dull as an owl, I sit sighing all day;
Och! what lass can be merry, now Teddy's away?
Was it gold?--No! not gold cou'd e'er force him to roam;
He'd a grunter, a cow, aye and whiskey at home;
And the love of the lasses might well make him vain,
Tho' dearest was Judy to Teddy M`Fane!

I steal to his cabin, blind Darby to see;
He cries, ``Arra, Judy! our Ted's far frae thee!
He wou'd walk to England, his fortune to make,
Wid a hod, or in hay--field; och! 'twas for thy sake!''
I snatch up the pipes, the dear pipes of my Ted,
And kiss them, and weep, for the music's all fled;
Ne'er a boy in Kilkenny cou'd finger a strain,
Or foot it away, like young Teddy M`Fane!

At morn or at eve, when I milk our one cow,
I sing, ``Cruel Teddy! come to me, boy, do!
From your own red--hair'd Judy, och! how cou'd you part?
Some duchess will be after stealing your heart!''
My old mother scolds in the corner, all day,
Calls my cheeks white as linen, and fait, well she may!
For they're bleach'd by my tears, like two spouts in the rain--
Arra! blow ye winds, bring to me Teddy M`Fane!