The Potato-Digger's Song

Come, Connal, a-chuisle, turn the clay,
And show the lumpers the light, gossoon ;
For we must toil this autumn day,
With Heaven's help till rise of the moon.
Our corn is stocked, our hay secure,
Thank God ! and nothing, my boy, remains,
But to pile the potatoes safe on the floor
Before the coming November rains.
The peasant's mine is his harvest still ;
So now, my lad, let's dig with a will : —
Work hand and foot,
Work spade and hand,
Work spade and hand,
Through the crumbly mould ;
The blessed fruit
That grows at the root
Is the real gold
Of Ireland !

Och, I wish that Maurice and Mary dear
Were singing beside us this soft day.
Of course they're far better off than here ;
But whether they're happier, who can say ?

I've heard, when it's morn with us, 'tis night
With them on the far Australian shore ; —
Well ! Heaven be about them with visions bright,
And send them children and money galore.

With us there's many a mouth to fill,
And so, my boy, let's work with a will :—
Work hand and foot, etc.

Ah, then, Paddy O'Reardan, you thundering Turk,
Is it coorting you are in the blessed noon?
Come over here, Katty, and mind your work,
Or I'll see if your mother can't change your tune.
Well — youth will be youth, as you know, Mike,
Sixteen and twenty for each were meant ; —
But Pat, in the name of the fairies, avic
Defer your proposals till after Lent ;
And as Love in this country lives mostly still
On potatoes — dig, boy, dig with a will :—
Work hand and foot, etc.

Down the bridle road the neighbours ride,
Through the light ash shade, by the wheaten sheaves
And the children sing on the mountain side,
In the sweet blue smoke of the burning leaves,
As the great sun sets in glory furled,
Faith, it's grand to think as I watch his face —
If he never sets on the English world,
He never, lads, sets on the Irish race ;
In the West, in the South, New Irelands still
Grow up in his light ; — come, work with a will : —
Work hand and foot, etc.

But look ! — the round moon, yellow as corn,
Comes up from the sea in the deep blue calm :
It scarcely seems a day since morn ;
Well — the heel of the day to you, ma'am !
God bless the moon ; for many a night,
As I restless lay on a troubled bed,
When rent was due — her quieting light
Has flattered with dreams my poor old head ; —
But see — the baskets remain to fill —
Come, girls, be alive — boys, dig with a will : —
Work hand and foot, etc.