When thou comest to the safe tent of the good comrade, abide there till thy going forth with a stedfast mind; and if, at the hospitable fire, thou hast learned the secret of a heart, thou shalt keep it holy, as the North Wind the trouble of the Stars.
And the Angel said: “What hast thou for all thy travail-- what dost thou bring with thee out of the dust of the world?”
And the man answered: “Behold, I bring one perfect yesterday!”
And the Angel questioned: “Hast thou then no to-morrow? Hast thou no hope?”
And the man replied: “Who am I that I should hope! Out of all my life I have been granted one sheaf of memory.”
And the man answered: “Of all else was I robbed by the way: but Memory was hidden safely in my heart--the world found it not.”
“She’s the darlin’ of the parish, she’s the pride of Inniskillen; ‘Twould make your heart lep up to see her trippin’ down the glen; There’s not a lad of life and fame that wouldn’t take her shillin’ And inlist inside her service-did ye hear her laughin’ then?
Did ye see her with her hand in mine the day that Clancy married? Ah, darlin’, how we footed it-the grass it was so green! And when the neighbours wandered home, I was the guest that tarried, An hour plucked from Paradise--come back to me, Rosleen!
Across the seas, beyand the hills, by lovely Inniskillen, The rigiment come marchin’--I hear the call once more Shure, a woman’s but a woman--so I took the Sergeant’s shillin’, For the pride o’ me was hurted--shall I never see her more?
She turned her face away from me, and black as night the land became; Her eyes were jewels of the sky, the finest iver seen; She left me for another lad, he was a lad of life and fame, And the heart of me was hurted--but there’s none that’s like Rosleen!”
Will you come back home, where the young larks are singin’? The door is open wide, and the bells of Lynn are ringin’; There’s a little lake I know, And a boat you used to row To the shore beyond that’s quiet--will you come back home?
Will you come back, darlin’? Never heed the pain and blightin’, Never trouble that you’re wounded, that you bear the scars of fightin’; Here’s the luck o’ Heaven to you, Here’s the hand of love will brew you The cup of peace--ah, darlin’, will you come back home?