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The Groves of Blarney.

The Groves of Blarney they look so charming,
Down by the purlings of sweet silent brooks,
All grac'd by posies that spontaneous grow there,
And planted in order in the rocky nooks.
'Tis there the daisy and sweet carnation,
The blooming pink, and the rose so fair,
The daffydowndilly besides the lilly,
Flowers that scent the sweet open air.

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Tis lady Jeffrey's that owns this station,
Like Alexander, or like Helen fair
There's no commander in all the nation,
For regulation could with her compare.
Such walls around her that no nine pounder
Could ever plunder her place of strength,
'Till Oliver Cromwell he did her pumwell,
Made breaches in all her battlements.

There is a cave where no daylight enters,
But cats and badgers are forever heard,
And moss'd by nature makes it completer.
Than a coach and six or a downy bed.
'Tis there the lake is well stored with fishes,

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And comely eels in the verdant mud,
Besides the leeches and the groves of beeches,
Standing in order to guard the flood.

There are great walks there for recreation,
'Tis there the lover may hear the dove, or
The gentle plaver in the afternoon,
There's Biddy Murphy the farmer's daughter,
A washing praties before the door,
With Paddy O'Blarney from sweet Killarney
All blood relations of lord Donoughmore.

There's statues gracing that noble mansion,
All heathen gods and goddesses so fair.
Bold Neptune, Plutarch and Nicodemus,

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And standing in the open air.
So now to finish this bold narration,
That my poor genius could not entwine,
But were I a Homer, or Nebuchadnezzar,
In every feature I'd make it shine.

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