Ermeline

Delight and joy are not unknown;
O who would e’er expect to hear

’Mid mountain bogs the cuckoo’s tone?

O who display a mien full fair,

A wonder each to look upon?
And who in every household care

Defy compare below the sun?
And who make mad each sprightly lad?

The maids of county Merion.

O fair the salmon in the flood,

That over golden sands doth run;
And fair the thrush in his abode,

That spreads his wings in gladsome fun;
More beauteous look, if truth be spoke,

The maids of county Merion.

Dear to the little birdies wild

Their freedom in the forest lone;
Dear to the little sucking child

The nurse’s breast it hangs upon;
Though long I wait, I ne’er can state

How dear to me is Merion.

Sweet in the house the Telyn’s {23} strin