A song from the Irish

Branch of the sweet and early rose,

That in the purest beauty grows,

So passing sweet to smell and sight,

On whom shalt thou bestow delight?

Who, in the dewy evening walk,

Shall pluck thee from the tender stalk?

Whose temples blushing shalt thou twine;

And who inhale thy breath divine?

William Drennan, M.D. (biography)

The Wake of William Orr

When Erin First Rose

O Sweeter than the Fragrant Flower

The Wild Geese

My Father