1845 Poem by William Pembroke Mulchinock
(now thought to be passed off by an EDWARD MORDAUNT SPENCER as his own in a book of 1846)
Smile, Mary my darling
Smile, Mary my darling ! why, why art thou weeping ?
To leave thee in sadness ’twill grieve my poor heart.
Oh, dry up thy tears, love, time onwards is creeping ;
Ere long both from Erin and thee I must part.
Peace reigns o’er the ocean and o’er the green mount
The pale moon is shedding her genial light,
While I my devotion will pledge by yon fountain,
o thee, my fair Mary, bright star of the night !
Smile, Mary my darling ! I now must away, love!
Oh banish all sorrow and grief from thine heart;
The hour is approaching, ’twill brook no delay, love,
Oh list to my prayer ‘ere from thee I must part.
Tho’ years flee away, love, in sorrow— in danger,
I’ll dwell on thy name— ’twill afford me delight.
When far, far away, in the land of the stranger,
T’ll think on fair Mary. Bright star of the night !
The response poem from the woman’s side ….
Oh how can I smile, love
Oh how can I smile, love, when now you are leaving?
In truth, ‘twould be only belying my heart :
Then linger awhile, love, I cannot help grieving ;
‘Tis no easy tiling for true lovers to part.
When thou shalt be far, far away o’er the waters,
Oh say, will remembrance e’er call forth a tear ?
When mingling with Albion’s fair, lovely daughters,
Oh say, wilt thou think of thine own Mary dear?
Oh how can I smile, love, when lonely I wander
Along the green vales where together we’ve roved?
The tear it will start, love, whene’er my thoughts ponder
On days that have fled, when we fervently loved.
When thou shalt be far, far away o’er the waters,
— Oh say, will remembrance e’er call forth a tear?
When mingling with Albion’s fair, lovely daughters,
Oh say, wilt thou think of thine own Mary dear?
Poem by William Pembroke Mulchinock
(now thought to be passed off by an EDWARD MORDAUNT SPENCER as his own in his book of 1846)
THE ROSE OF TRALEE
(Set to music, by Stephen Glover, and published by C. Jeffreys, Soho-square.)
The pale moon was rising above the green mountain,
The sun was declining beneath the blue sea,
When I stray ‘d with my love to the pure crystal fountain
That stands in the green sylvan vale of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair as the fresh rose of morning,
Yet ’twas not her beauty alone that won me ;
Oh no, ’twas the truth in her eye ever dawning
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee..
The cool shades of ev’ning their mantle were spreading,
And Mary, all smiling, was listening to me ;
The moon through the valley her pale rays was shedding,
When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee.
Though lovely and fair as the fresh rose of morning,
Oh ’twas not her beauty alone that won me.
No, no, ’twas the truth in her eye ever dawning,
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.