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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),
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 ;