cap3-v:aKp$Times New RomanXJP unbenannt""B>.Aus Richards Liederseiten (www.notenseiten.de).Times New RomanSdVC X@1.Near@to@Ban@bridge@town,@in@the@Coun@ty@Down,C >*dAone@mornC >3dAing@in@JuA> 2{\rtf1\ansi\ansicpg1252\deff0\deftab720{\fonttbl{\f0\fswiss MS Sans Serif;}{\f1\froman\fcharset2 Symbol;}{\f2\fswiss\fprq2 System;}{\f3\froman\fprq2 Comic Sans MS;}{\f4\froman\fprq2 Times New Roman;}} {\colortbl\red0\green0\blue0;} \deflang1031\pard\qc\plain\f3\fs40\cf0 The Star of County Down \par } >*Times New RomanTraditional, Irland@ly,Sd VC X@down@a@bo@reen@green@came@a@sweet@col@leen@and@she@smiled@as@she@passed@me@by.Sd VC X@Oh,@she@looked@so@neat@from@her@two@white@feet@to@the@sheen@of@her@nutC >@%[j`dAbrown@hair,Sd VC X@sure@the@coax@ing@elf,@I'd@to@shake@my@self,@to@make@sure@I@was@stand@ing@there!Sd VC XC>Ö.Times New RomanRefrain@Oh@from@Ban@try@Bay@up@to@Der@ry@Quay,@and@from@Gal@way@to@DubC >@(^n`dAlin@townSd VC XC >`:n^@dAno@maid@I've@seen@like@the@sweet@col@leen@that@I@met@in@the@Coun@tyA>i 2. As she onward sped I shook my head and gazed with a feeling quare, "And I said", says I to a passers-by, "Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?" "Oh", he smiled at me, and with pride says he, "that's the gem of Ireland's crown. She's young Rosie McCann, from the banks of the Bann, she's the star of the County Down!" 3. She'd a soft brown eye and a look so sly, and a smile like a rose in June, and you hung on each note on her lily-white throat, as she lilted an Irish tune. At the pattern dance you were held in trance as she tripped through a reel or a jig, when her eyes she'd roll she'd coax my soul a spud from a hungry pig. 4. I've travelled a bit, but never was hit since my roving career began, but fair and square I surrendered there to the charm of young Rosie McCann. With a heart to let and no tenant yet, did I meet within shawl or gown? But in she went and I asked no rent from the star of County Down. 5. At the crossroads fair I'll be surely there, and I'll dress in my Sunday clothes, and I'll try sheep's eyes and deludering lies on the heart of the nut-brown Rose. No pipe I smoke, no horse I'll yoke, though my plough with rust turns brown, 'till as smiling bride by my own fireside sits the star of the County Down!@Down!Z