Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Teresa

My feet are here on
This harvest morn,
But oh! the ache thats in my
For the where I was born.
My weary hands are
Through work in 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 see the hawthorn tree
By the Old Bog Road.

I was young and restless
My was ill at ease,
dreaming 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
bricks per load.
A three thousand miles away
the Old Bog Road.

My mother last springtime,
When fields were green.
The neighbours said her
Was the finest seen.
There were snowdrops and
Piled high her bed,
And Church was crowded
When her funeral was read.
And was I on Broadway
bricks per load.
When they out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

There was a decent at home
Who used to with me.
Her eyes soft and sorrowful
moonlight oer the sea.
Her name was Dwyer,
But that was ago.
The of God are wiser
Than the that man might know.
She died the day I her,
A-building per load,
Id best forget the days Ive
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 a rush for me
What is there to moan,
Ill go my way and my pay
And smoke my alone.
Each human heart bear its grief
Though bitter be the
So God be you, Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road.