Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Brayton

My are here on Broadway
This harvest morn,
But oh! the ache in my heart
For the spot I was born.
My weary hands are
Through in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a once more
Through a of Irish wheat.
Had I the to wander back,
Or own a abode.
Id sooner see the tree
By the Old Bog Road.

When I was and restless
My was ill at ease,
dreaming of America,
And the beyond the seas.
Oh, sorrow their money,
Tis hard to the same,
And the world to any man
If no one his name.
Ive had my day and I am
A-building per load.
A long three thousand miles
the Old Bog Road.

My died last springtime,
When Erins were green.
The said her waking
Was the finest seen.
There were and primroses
Piled high her bed,
And Ferns Church was
her funeral Mass was read.
And was I on Broadway
A-building per load.
When they out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

There was a decent girl at
Who used to walk me.
Her were soft and sorrowful
moonlight oer the sea.
Her was Mary Dwyer,
But that was ago.
The of God are wiser
the things that man might know.
She died the day I her,
A-building per load,
Id best forget the Ive spent
On the old Bog Road.

Ah! a weary puzzle,
finding out by man,
Ill take the day for what its
And do the I can.
Since no one cares a for me
need is there to moan,
Ill go my way and my pay
And my pipe alone.
Each human heart must bear its
Though bitter be the
So God be you, Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road.