Brighidin Ban Mo Store 歌词

	作词 : Stewart, Stewart ...
	I am a wand'ring minstrel man,
	And Love my only theme,
	I've stray'd beside the pleasant Bann,
	And eke the Shannon's stream;
	I've pip'd and play'd to wife and maid
	By Barrow, Suir, and Nore,
	But never met a maiden yet
	Like Brighidin Ban Mo Store.

	My girl hath ringlets rich and rare,
	By Nature's fingers wove -
	Loch-Carra's swan is not so fair
	As her breast of love;
	And when she moves, in Sunday sheen,
	Beyond our cottage door,
	I'd scorn the high-born Saxon queen
	For Brighidin Ban Mo Store.

	It is not that thy smile is sweet,
	And soft thy voice of song -
	It is not that thou fleest to meet
	My comings lone and long;
	But that doth rest beneath thy breast,
	A heart of purest core,
	Whose pulse is known to me alone,
	My Brighidin Ban Mo Store!

	zuo ci : Stewart, Stewart ...
	I am a wand' ring minstrel man,
	And Love my only theme,
	I' ve stray' d beside the pleasant Bann,
	And eke the Shannon' s stream
	I' ve pip' d and play' d to wife and maid
	By Barrow, Suir, and Nore,
	But never met a maiden yet
	Like Brighidin Ban Mo Store.

	My girl hath ringlets rich and rare,
	By Nature' s fingers wove
	LochCarra' s swan is not so fair
	As her breast of love
	And when she moves, in Sunday sheen,
	Beyond our cottage door,
	I' d scorn the highborn Saxon queen
	For Brighidin Ban Mo Store.

	It is not that thy smile is sweet,
	And soft thy voice of song
	It is not that thou fleest to meet
	My comings lone and long
	But that doth rest beneath thy breast,
	A heart of purest core,
	Whose pulse is known to me alone,
	My Brighidin Ban Mo Store!

	zuò cí : Stewart, Stewart ...
	I am a wand' ring minstrel man,
	And Love my only theme,
	I' ve stray' d beside the pleasant Bann,
	And eke the Shannon' s stream
	I' ve pip' d and play' d to wife and maid
	By Barrow, Suir, and Nore,
	But never met a maiden yet
	Like Brighidin Ban Mo Store.

	My girl hath ringlets rich and rare,
	By Nature' s fingers wove
	LochCarra' s swan is not so fair
	As her breast of love
	And when she moves, in Sunday sheen,
	Beyond our cottage door,
	I' d scorn the highborn Saxon queen
	For Brighidin Ban Mo Store.

	It is not that thy smile is sweet,
	And soft thy voice of song
	It is not that thou fleest to meet
	My comings lone and long
	But that doth rest beneath thy breast,
	A heart of purest core,
	Whose pulse is known to me alone,
	My Brighidin Ban Mo Store!

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