The stile in the lane

There's a lane down by the river,

Where the cuckoos soonest call,

'Tis the loveliest place in Ireland

When the evening shadows fall;

But for fear of ghosts or fairies,

Faith! I dare not wander through,

Without someone to mind me,

Oh! colleens dear, could you?

There's a stile beside a meadow

In the middle of the lane,

Such an awkward, dear old stile it is,

I try to climb in vain,

Until someone helps me over

To a cosy seat for two;

I could linger there for ever,

Oh! girls dear, couldn't you?

There's a meadow deck'd with daisies,

Not a step beyond the stile,

Where the blithe song of the blackbird

Could the heart of care beguile;

But I never yet could listen,

Tho' he whistled all he knew,

For someone whisper'd all the time,

Now, colleens dear, could you?

There's a chapel clad in ivy,

Oh! as sweet as you could see,

And there, he says, next Sunday

I must promise his to be;

In the face of all the people

I will find it hard to do,

But I'll try my best to please him,

Oh! girls dear, wouldn't you?