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On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I;

No harp like my own could fo cheerily play,

And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.

When at last I was forc'd from my Sheelah to part, 5

She said (while the sorrow was big at her heart),
Oh! remember


Sheelah when far far away ; And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray.

Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure,


And he constantly lov'd me, although I was poor ;
When the four-looking folks sent me heartless away,
I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.

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