Dermot Asthore


Oh, Dermot Asthore, between waking and sleeping
I heard thy dear voice and wept to its lay
Every pulse of my heart, the sweet measure was keeping
Till Killarney’s wild echoes had borne it away
Oh tell me, my love, is this my last meeting ?
Shall we wander no more in Killarney’s green bowers
To watch the bright sun o’er the dim hills retreating
And the wild stag at rest in his bed of spring flowers

Oh, Dermot Asthore, how this fond heart would flutter.
When I met thee by night in the shady boreen
And heard thine own voice in a soft whisper utter
Those words of endearment ‘Mavourneen Colleen’
I know we must part, but oh say not forever
That it may be for years adds enough to my pain
But I’ll cling to the hope that though now we must sever
In some blessed hour I shall meet thee again


Written by Mrs Crawford

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