THE OULD PLAID SHAWL.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXIV, Issue 33, 18 December 1896, Page 13

THE OULD PLAID SHAWL.

(By F. A. Fahy.)

Not far from old Kinvara, in the merry month of May, When birds were singing cheerily, there came across my way, As if from out the sky above an angel chanced to fall, A little Irish cailin in an ould plaid shawl. She tripped along right joyously, a basket on her arm, And, oh, her face ; and, oh, her grace ; the soul of saint would charm. Her brown hair rippled o'er her brow, but greatest charm of all Was her modest blue eyes beaming 'neath her ould plaid shawl. I courteously saluted her — " God save you, miss," says I ; " God save you, kindly, sir," said she, and shyly passed by ; Off went my heart along with her, a captive in her thrall, Imprisoned in the corner of her ould plaid shawl. Enchanted with her beauty rare, I gazed in pure delight, Till round an angle of the road she vanished from my sight ; But ever since I sighing say, as I that scene recall, "The grace of God about you and your ould plaidishawl." I've heard of highway robbers that with pistols and with knives Make trembling travellers yield them up their money or their lives ; But think of me that handed out my heart and head and all To a simple little cailin in an ould plaid shawl. Oh graceful the mantillas that the signorinas wear, And tasteful are the bonnets of Parisian ladies fair ; But never cloak or hood or robe in palace, bower, or hall Clad half such witching beauty as that ould plaid shawl. I'll seek her all through Galway and I'll seek her all through Clare, I'll search for tales or tidings of my traveller everywhere ; For peace of mind I'll never find until my own I call That little Irish cailin in an ould plaid shawl.