Most Cordially Dedicated to 
Mrs. Isaac McGaw of New York. 
"The Lament of the Irish Emigrant" (1843) 
A Ballad.
Poetry by The Hon. Mrs. Price Blackwood. 
[Helena Selina Sheridan (Lady Dufferin)]
The Music Composed by William Richardson Dempster [1809-1871].

Portraying the feelings of an Irish peasant previous to his 
leaving home, calling up the scenes of his youth under the
painful reflection of having buried his wife and child, and 
what his feelings will be in America.

Boston: Geo. P. Reed, 17 Tremont Row
Sharp Lithrs. Boston 
W. Sharp del.
Plate Number 203
[Source: 123/058@Levy]

1. I'm sitting on the stile Mary, 
Where we sat side by side, 
On a bright May morning long ago, 
When first you were my bride. 
The corn was springing fresh and green, 
And the lark sang loud and high, 
And the red was on thy lip, Mary, 
And the lovelight in your eye, 
And the red was on thy lip, Mary, 
And the lovelight in your eye. 

2. The place is little changed, Mary, 
The day as bright as then; 
The lark's loud song is in my ear, 
And the corn is green again! 
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, 
And your breath warm on my cheek, 
And I still keep list'ning for the words, 
You never more may speak. 
And I still keep list'ning for the words 
You never more may speak. 

3. 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, 
And the little church stands near, 
The church where we were wed, Mary, 
I see the spire from here; 
But the graveyard lies between, Mary, 
And my step might break your rest, 
For I've laid you darling down to sleep, 
With your baby on your breast, 
For I've laid you darling down to sleep, 
With your baby on your breast. 

4. I'm very lonely now, Mary, 
For the poor make no new friends, 
But Oh! they love the better for, 
The few our father sends! 
And you were all I had, Mary, 
My blessing and my pride; 
There's nothing left to care for now, 
Since my poor Mary died, 
There's nothing left to care for now, 
Since my poor Mary died!

5. Your's was the brave good heart, Mary,
That still kept hoping on,
When the trust in God had left my soul,
And my arm's young strength had gone;
There was comfort ever on your lip,
And the kind look on your brow;
I bless you for that same, Mary,
Though you can't hear me now.

6. I thank you for that patient smile,
When your heart was fit to break,
When the hunger pain was gnawing there,
And you hid it, for my sake.
I bless you for the pleasant word,
When your heart was sad and sore;
Oh I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,
Where grief can't reach you more.

7. I´m bidding you a long farewell,
My Mary, kind and true,
But I'll not forget you darling,
In the land I'm going to.
They say there's bread and work for all,
And the sun shines always there;
But I'll not forget old Ireland,
Were it fifty times as fair.

8. And often in those grand old woods,
I'll sit and shut my eyes,
And my heart will travel back again,
To the place where Mary lies.
And I'll think I see the little stile,
Where we sat side by side;
And the springing corn, and the bright May morn,
When first you were my bride.