Mild Mabel Kelly (From the Irish)

Whoever the youth who by Heaven's decree
Has his happy right hand 'neath that bright head of thine,
'Tis certain that he
From all sorrow is free
Till the day of his death, if a life so divine
Should not raise him in bliss above mortal degree:
Mild Mabel-ni-Kelly, bright Coolun of cuds,
All stately and pure as the swan on the lake;
Her mouth of white teeth is a palace of pearls,
And the youth of the land are love-sick for her sake!

No strain of the sweetest e'er heard in the land
That she knows not to sing, in a voice so enchanting,
That the cranes on the strand
Fall asleep where they stand;
Oh, for her blooms the rose and the lily ne'er wanting
To shed its mild radiance o'er bosom or hand:
The dewy blue blossom that hangs on the spray.
More blue than her eye, human eye never saw,
Deceit never lurk'd in its beautiful ray,—
Dear lady, I drink to you, slainthe go bragh!