49 



THE BONNY GREY MARE. 



The grass in the paddock grows up to her chest, 



Her tail has grown down to the ground, 

 There under the oak she is taking her rest ; 

 Her beautiful foal, who is one of the best, 



Flys by with a leap and a bound. 



One face I recall as I look at my grey, 



A face that was comely and fair, 

 A face that brought nothing but anxious dismay, 

 And love without hope through the night and the day. 



And left a dark life of despair. 



Old mare had you known that the hand that caress'd 



And fed you with sugar and bread, 

 Would cause me such pain, you'd have thought it were best 

 To crush me and kill me and lay me to rest, 



At peace with the slumbering dead. 



How httle they think and how little they care. 



These hearts that are cold as the clay, 

 I'd rather believe in my bonny grey mare ; 

 My heart and my home you shall wiUingly share. 



Till death come and take us away. 



