Ne'er think on the dangers attending the boys,
Who are fighting your battles thro' nonsense and noise.
To Dublin I went, that damnable place,
A spalpeen came up, and he swore to my face,
He call'd for the pressgang, they came without fail,
And they neck and heels tied me poor Paddy O Neal.
Tol loo ral lal loo, &c.
Away to the tender they made me repair,
Of tenderness devil a morsel was there;
I roar'd and I curs'd, but it did not avail,
And down in the cellar cramm'd Paddy O'Neal.
They call'd up all hands, hands and feet soon obey'd,
I wish'd myself home cutting turf with my spade,
The first thing I saw made my courage to fail,
"Twas a large floating castle for Paddy O'Neal.
Tol loo ral lal loo, &c.
I let go my hands to hold fast by my toes,
The ship took a rowl, and away my head goes,
I fell in the water, and splash'd like a whale,
And with boat-hooks they fish'd up poor Paddy O'
Neal.
For a bed they'd a sack hung as high as my chin,
They call'd it a hammock, and bid me get in,
I laid hould, took a leap, but my footing being frail,
I swung me clean over, poor Paddy O'Neal.
Tol loo ral lal lo, &c.
'Up hammocks, down chests!' the boatswain did
"There's a French ship in sight!' tunder, an' nuns, is that all?
To a gun I was station'd, they uncover'd her tail,
And the leading-strings gave to poor Paddy O'Neal.
The captain cries, England and Ireland, my boys!'
Oh! when he mention'd ould Ireland, my heart made
a noise,
I clapp'd fire on her back, while I held by her tail,
The damn'd devil flew out, and threw Paddy O'Neal.
Tol loo ral lal loo, &c.
So we leather'd away, by my soul, hob or nob,
Till the Frehchman gave up what he thought a bad
job;
To tie him behind a strong cord we did bring,
And we led him along like a pig in a string.
Peace now is return'd, but should war come again,
By the piper of Leinster! I'd venture a main,
Returning, I'd tell you fine folks such a tale,
That you'd laugh till you cry at poor Paddy O'Neal.
THE BIRDS ARE SINGING SWEET, MY LOVE.
THE birds are singing sweet, my love;
The flowers are fresh and gay;
All nature shining forth, my love;
For 'tis the month of May.
The bells are ringing sweet, my love,
Yet ev'ry thing looks drear;
I ask my heart it says my love,
That Agnes is not here.
Then open the window, sweet my love,
On this auspicious day;
And when my eyes behold my love,
I'll welcome in the May,
The sun is rising now, my love,
And joyous darts his rays,
While trembling zephyrs seem, my love,
To join in Nature's praise.
THE MAIDEN I LOVE.
THE maiden I love is the theme of my lay,
She is blooming and fair as the morn just begun, Her eyes soft and bright as the first beam of day, And her ringlets like dark clouds that curl round
Like heaven's own light, when heaven is most bright, Her smiles such a brilliancy every where throw; In the depth of her eyes a divinity lies,
And a god seems to dwell on her beautiful brow. Such, such is the maiden I live to adore,
And I prize her the wealth of the world above; I have told her I've sworn all this o'er and o'er, Yet she smiles on my sorrow and not on my love. The hope of my heart may in sadness depart,
While it beats it will cherish her memory still, Though its efforts may die, and its best feelings lie, Like the ocean round Hecla, eternally chill.
WHEN thy bosom heaves a sigh,
When the tear o'erflows thine eye,
May sweet hope afford relief,
Cheer thy heart and calm thy grief.
So the tender flower appears
Drooping wet with morning tears,
Till the sun-beam's genial ray
Chase the heavy dew away.
THE TEMPERANCE SOCIETY TEE
JOHN JONES was a farmer, and highly respectable,
Always in spirits, and never dejectable;
One of those men who would never annoy himself,
But o'er his pipe and his glass would enjoy himself.
Ever found sober, disliking all dizziness-
Rising each morn with a clear head for business;
He honour'd his king, as he loved to be national,
And lived like a being disposed to be rational.
John Jones had a wife, full and pleasant in feature,
A nice little woman-a good-hearted creature;
She'd good worldly wisdom, could shrewdly defeat a
[man.
In short, just the woman who knew how to treat a
Children they had, too, all grown up and dutiful,
Boys looking healthy, and girls looking beautiful;
Not a brow there was o'erclouded by sappiness,
But their fireside was the picture of happiness.
Thus John loved his home, nor did his spirits sink at all,
Till some one told John 'twas a sin for to drink at all;
And tho' he ne'er broke through the rules of sobriety,
Got him to join a tee-tot'list's society.
John, from his feelings, would fain have evaded him, But the sanctified phiz of the fellow persuaded himHis wife 'gan to check him, but quick he did thwart her. And vow'd from that time he'd drink nothing but water.
If John met a friend he always took tea with him, Though he felt at the time it did not agree with him; All grog he forsakes now, good home-brew'd too, he leaves,
go home and smoke his pipe over his tea-leaves. His wife saw with sorrow the change that took place in him,
Until she at length could no cheerfulness trace in him;
He got dull and mopish, drank slops to satiety,
Which made the dame curse the tee-totalist society.
The winter came on, his great coat he look'd thin in it,
He still swallow'd water without any gin in it;
The consequence was, though not given to larketing,
He died one cold night after coming from marketing.
The wife, broken-hearted, to find thus her joys end,
Call'd in the doctors, declared he'd been poison'd-
His body they open'd, and found, besides blow galls,
His inside was stuff'd full of tea-leaves and snow-balls.
My moral is plain-had John lived and enjoy'd himself,
He bad ne'er like a fool or a madman destroy'd himself.
This proves his rank folly-from nature he caught a rub,
Through changing his stomach clean into a water-tub.
Since good liquor doubtless was sent for our uses,
To gladden our hearts, while we shun its abuses-
May each tee-totalist freeze until ice he's a lump of,
For a man who drinks water I'd have made a pump of.
O WHAR was ye sae late yestreen,
My bonnie Jeanie Gray?
Your mither miss'd you late at e'en,
And eke at break o' day.
Your mither look'd sae sour and sad,
Your faither dull and wae-
O whar was ye sae late yestreen,
My bonnie Jeanie Gray?
Your mither look'd, &c.
Dear sister sit ye down by me,
And let naebody ken,
For I hae promis'd late yestreen,
To wed young Jamie Glen.
The melting tear stood in his e'e-
What heart could say him nay?
As aft he vow'd, through life
I'm thine, my bonnie Jeanie Gray.
The melting tear, &c.
IF a body meet a body comin' through the rye,
If a body kiss a body, need a body cry?
Every lassie has her laddie,
Nane, they say, ha'e I;
|