Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Teresa

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

When I was and restless
My was ill at ease,
Through of America,
And the gold 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 away
the Old Bog Road.

My mother last springtime,
When fields were green.
The said her waking
Was the ever seen.
were snowdrops and primroses
Piled high her bed,
And Church was crowded
When her Mass was read.
And here was I on
bricks per load.
When they carried out her
the old Bog Road.

There was a girl at home
Who to walk with me.
Her eyes soft and sorrowful
moonlight oer the sea.
Her name was Dwyer,
But was long ago.
The ways of God are
the things that man might know.
She the day I left her,
bricks per load,
Id forget the days Ive spent
On the old Bog Road.

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