By That Lake, Whose Gloomy Shore
By that Lake, whose gloomy shore
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,
Where the cliff hangs high and steep,
Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep.
"Here, at least," he calmly said,
"Woman ne'er shall find my bed."
Ah! the good Saint little knew
What that wily sex can do.
'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew --
Eyes of most unholy blue!