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 She whipped the maids and straved the kern,
And drove away the poor;
‘Ah, woe is me!’ the old lord said,
‘I rue my bargain sore!’
This lord he had a daughter fair,
Beloved of old and young,
And nightly round the shealing-fires
Of her the gleeman sung.
“As sweet and good is young Kathleen
As Eve before her fall;”
So sang the harper at the fair,
So harped he in the hall.
“Oh, come to me, my daughter dear!
Come sit upon my knee,
For looking in your face, Kathleen,
Your mother's own I see!”
He smoothed and smoothed her hair away,
He kissed her forehead fair;
“It is my darling Mary's brow,
It is my darling's hair!”
Oh, then spake up the angry dame,
‘Get up, get up,’ quoth she,
“I'll sell ye over Ireland,
I'll sell ye o'er the sea”
She clipped her glossy hair away,
That none her rank might know,
She took away her gown of silk,
And gave her one of tow,
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