"Ah, sweet Kitty Neil, Rise up from that wheel- Your neat little foot Will be weary from spinning; Come trip down with me To the sycamore tree, Half the parish is there, And the dance is beginning. The sun is gone down, But the full harvest moon Shines sweetly and cool On the dew-whitened valley; While all the air rings With the soft, loving things, Each little bird sings In the green shaded alley."

With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the while, Her eyes in the glass, As she bound her hair, glancing; 'Tis hard to refuse When a young lover sues So she couldn't but choose To go off to the dancing. And now on the green, The glad groups are seen Each gay-hearted lad With the lass of his choosing; And Pat, without fail, Leads our sweet Kitty Neil Somehow, when he asked, She ne'er thought of refusing.

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