Saw ye Neece O'Hagan,
By Moylena's Banks,
With his matchlock in his hand,
Foam on Rory's flanks?
Child dear! child dear!
'Twixt the night and day,
Neece will come with all his men
And carry you away.
If you do not shut your eyes
And sleep, mo paistín fionn,
If you do not keep the sighs
Locked your lips within,
When your cradle-song I sing,
Hushing to and fro–
Neece will knock at mother's door,
And off my Dear must go.
He will take you to his cave
Far down the Glen,
You will miss your mother's arms
Among the roving men.
Whist, whist, a-stor mo chroidhe,
Closer, closer creep–
O Neece, go by nor stop to-night,
For my Dear's asleep.
Did I catch a blink o' blue?
Did a whisper stir?
Nay, 'twas but a deeper note
In pusheen's gentle purr;
And a little sleeping boy
On his mother's knee,
Walks with angels in his dreams,
Nor fears the Rapparee.
