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O! DON'T be beguilin' my heart with your

wilin', You've tried that same thrick far too often

before, And by this blessed minnit an' day that is in

it, I'll take right good care that you'll try it

no more! You thought that so slyly you walked with

O'Reilly, By man and by mortal unheard and unseen, While your hand he kept squeezin', and yuce

looked so pleasin', Last Saturday night in your father's boreen.

With wonder I gazed on yon proud, lofty building,

As in grandeur it rose from its lord,
With sorrow I beheld my own garden soon yielding

Its choicest of fruits for its board.
But where is my father's low cottage of clay,
Wherein I did spend many a long happy day?
Alas! has his lordship contrived it away?

Yes, it's gone and I'll ne'er see it more.
When nature was seen on the sole bush and bramble,

Sit smiling in beautiful bloom,
O'er the fields without danger I used to ramble,

And lavish amidst her perfume,
Or range thro' the woods where the gay-feather'd throng
Did joyfully sing their loud-echoing song,
The days then of summer passed swftly along,

Now they are gone and I'll ne'er see them more. When the sloes and the berries hung ripe on the bushes.

I've gathered them oft without harm,
And gone to the fields where I've shorn the green rushes,

Preparing for winter's cold storm.
Or I've sat by the fire on a cold winter's night,
Along with my friends telling tales of delight.
Those tales gave me pleasure, I could them invite,

Now they are gone, shall I ne'er see them more?
But, Erin, sad Erin, it grieves me to ponder

On the wrongs of thy injured isle;
Thy sons, many thousands, deploring, to wander

On shores far away in exile.
But give me the power to cross o'er the main,
America might yield me some shelter from pain,
I'm only lamenting whilst here I remain

For the joys that I'll never see more.
Farewell then to Erin and those I left weeping

Upon her disconsolate shore,
Farewell to the grave where my father lies sleeping,

That ground I still dearly adore.
Farewell to each pleasure, I once had at home,
Farewell, now a stranger in England I roam;
Oh, give me my past joys, or give me a tomb,

Yes, in pity I ask for no more.

His thricks and his schamin' has set you a

dhramin'; That any one blessed with their eyesight

may see, You're not the same crature you once war by

nature, And they that are thraitors won't do, faith,

for me! Tho' it is most distressin' to think that a

blessin' Was just about fallin' down plump on the

scene, When a cunning culloger, as black as an ogre,

Upsets all your hopes in a dirty boreen. And 'tis most ungrateful, unkind, and unfaith

ful, When you very well know how I gave the

go-by, Both to pride and to pleasure, temptation and

treasure, To dress all my looks by the light of your

eye. 0! 'tis Mary Mullally, that lives in the val

ley'Tis she that would say how ill-used I have

been, And she's not the deludher to smile and to

soother, And then walk away to her father's boreon. I send you your garter, for now I'm a martyr, And keepsakes and jims are the least of any

care, So when things are exchangin', since you too's

to rangin' I'll trouble you, too, for the lock of my hair. I know by its shakin', my heart is a-breakin', You'll make me a corpse when I'd make you

a queen, But as sure as I'm livin', it's you I'll be givin'

A terrible fright, when I haunt the borcen!

KATE O'BRIEN. PERHAPS you don't know there's a sweet little stream Far down in a dell where a poet might dream; A nate little cabin stands close to the tide, And, och, such a jewel is shining inside. I don't mean a jewel that money can buy, But a warm-hearted creature with love in her eye; You'll not find a beauty so beauteous as she From Ballinacrasy to Donaghadee. Her name is O'Brien, they christened her Kate, There's many a beauty has shared the same fate; But never a one, to my thinking, I've seen So lovely, so trim, as my bright-eyed colleen. Her face is a picture for limners to paint, Her figure might serve for a heart-winning saint; Oh, you'll not find a beauty so beauteous as she From Ballinacrasy to Donaghadee. Her hair is as smooth as the raven's own back, But the bonniest bird has not tresses so black; And they curl 'round a neck that might rival the snow, With the grace of a swan on the waters below. Her mouth-oh, what music I've heard from that same, Her breath it might put the sweet roses to share; Oh, you'll not find a beauty so beauteous as she From Ballinacrasy to Donaghadee.


TUERE's a dear little plant that grows on oir

isle, 'Twas St. Patrick himself sure that set it; And the sun on his labor with pleasure did

smile, And with dew from his eye often wet it. It shines thro' the bog, thro' the brake and the

mireland, And he called it the dear little shamrock

of Ireland;


PRETTY MARY, THE DAIRYMAS'S DAUGHTER. The dear little shamrock, the sweet little shamrock,

Faix it's I'll sing you a ditty that's funny and witty, The dear little, sweet little shamrock of

Yet it wakens the pity of every one; Ireland.

It's in vain ye'll be thryin' to prevint yeersels cryin',

An' yer eyes ye'll be dhryin' whin my song is done. That dear little plant still grows in our land, 'Twas in swate Tipperary there stud a nate dairy,

Fresh and fair as the daughters of Erin; Wid the name of Ned Carey wrute over the door ; Whose smile can bewitch, and whose eyes can And sure Ned sould good butter, so it said on the shutter, command,

And beautiful googeens a shilling a score. In each climate they ever appear in.

An' he had a fine daughter call'd Mary, For they shine thro' the bog, thro’ the brake

The pride iv her dad an' his dairy; and the mireland,

Och! she was his delight an' the pearl iv his sight, Just like their own dear little shamrock of

An' as frisky an' blithe as a fairy. Ireland. The dear little shamrock, the sweet little shain- Poor old Ned loved his daughter, for an angel he thought her, rock,

An' fine clothes he bought her to make her look gay; The dear little, sweet little shimrock of An' she was a sweet creature, so full of good nature, Ireland.

An' as fair in ach fathure as the blossom o’ May.

She was always intrudhin' and niver a fude in, That dear little plant that springs from our So ye'll be kincludin' she'd iv lovers her share; soil,

There was tradesmin an' doctors an' lawyers and proctors, When its three little leaves are extended,

Came no ind of miles from the divil knows where, Denotes from the stalk we together should

Just to get a smile from sweet Mary, toil,

The pride iv her dad an' his dairy; And ourselves by ourselves be befriended.

Och! she was his delight an' the pearl iv his sight, And still thro' the bog, thro' the brake and the

An' as frisky an' blithe as a fairy. mireland, From one root should branch, like the sham- But so plaze you sweet Mary loved one, Paddy Rarey, rock of Ireland;

Who could dance like a fairy an’ twirl his stick; The dear little shamrock, the sweet little sham. Tho' his birth was a misthry, could trace his ancistry, rock of Ireland ;

Thro’ the pages iv histhry to Amonachnic. The dear little, sweet little shamrock of Ire- But Mary's ould daddy didn't care for young Paddy, land.

For no money had he sure a wife to support;

An' a silky ould waver, a well-to-do shaver,

Crept into Ned's favor his daughter to court,
Oh, Erin's Isle, my heart's delight,

An’ was promised the hand iv sweet Mary, I long to see thee free,

The pride iv her dad an' his dairy; Where'er I am by day or night

Och! she was his delight an' the pearl iv his sight, My heart beats warm for thee.

An' as frisky an' blithe as a fairy.
I grieve to see thee so oppressed,
But what can I do more?

Mary's lovers got jealous an' oft they did bellus,
Oh, Grama Machree, I weep for thee-

Sayin' before they'll expel us we'll all take the sack;

One wint home to his garden, an' (cravin' yer pardon), Old Ireland I adore.

He dug up the devil an' shoveled him back. Your scenez surpass all on earth,

An' some shouldered arums an' others sung pearms, They are so rich and rare;

An' many tried charums till their houses they burn'd, Your sons are of the noblest birth,

An' the papers related iv deaths contemplated, Few with them can compare.

Thro' love it shtated, which wasn't returned, Oppressed and starved they were compelled

By the beautiful heart-killin' Mary, To wander from your shore;

The pride iv her dad an' his dairy; Old Grama Machree, I weep for thee

Och! she was his delight an' the pearl iv his sight, Old Ireland I adore.

An’ as frisky an' blithe as a fairy. I'd like to know what hast you done

So one day to her father, sez Mary, I'd rather That still you can't be free?

Be single for life, than that life shud be ruled But this I know, you had a son

By a crawlin' ould waver, an' I'll not have the craver Who struggled hard for thee.

If the hair iv his head hung with diamonds an' gold. O'Connell was that hero's name

Sez her father, Daunt raise me, for the divil may saise me, He was known from shore to shore;

If ye iver have Pat, I'd as lave see yer dead; Oh, Grama Machree, he'd have set you free, Thin he turn'd like a wild boor, an' bullied his child sure, But, alas! he is no more.

Till she fell on the tiled flure, her senses most fled.

An' yer wouldn't give that for poor Mary, If you were free as once we were,

The pride iv her dad an? his dairy; How happy would we be!

Och! she was his delight an’ the pearl iv his sight, No foreign landlord then would dare

An' as frisky an' blithe as a fairy.
To lord it over thee.
We'd have our homes and bread to eat, But at last she got betthur an' wraut Pat a letthur,
As once we had before;

Telling him to forget her an' bid him good-by!
Oh, Grama Machree, I long to see

Thin she gave a great shiver, flue away to the river, Old Ireland free once more.

Axed God to forgive her, an' prepared for to die!

PRETTY MARY.-Continued.

OULD DOCTHER MACK. Cum away from the water, shouted Ned to his daughter,

You may tramp the world over An' you shall wed Pat an' have all yer dad's tin;

From Delhi to Dover, But it wasn't so aisy, for the spot bein' greazy,

And sail the salt say from Archangel to ArraAn' her mind bein' crazy, she slipped and fell in.

An' all down to the bottom went Mary,

Circumvint back
In sight of her dad an' his dairy;

Through the whole Zodiack,
Och! she was his delight an' the pearl iv his sight,
An' as frisky an' blithe as a fairy.

But to ould Docther Mack ye can't furnish &


Have ye the dropsy, An' Mary's poor lover did never recover,

The gout, the autopsy? An' his antics an' tanthrums 'twas horrid to see;

Fresh livers and limbs instantaneous he'll Till he tuk off his garther, some forty years afther

shape yez; An' hoong himself up to a mulberry tree! An' sure ould Ned Carey follied Pat an’ Mary,

No ways infarior An' they haunted the dairy an' kicked up a great din;

In skill, but suparior, An' such shriekin' an' laughter, from foundation to rafther,

And lineal postarior of Ould Aysculapious.

He and his wig wid the curls so carroty, Was heard for years afther till the house it fell in! An' that was the ind o' poor Mary,

Aigle eye and complexion clarety;

Here's to his health,
Her Paddy, her dad, an' the dairy;
An' from that same night I've never seen sight

Honor and wealth,
Iv the home iv the beautiful fairy.

The king of his kind and the crame of

all charity! THE WOODS OF KYLINOE.

How the rich and the poor,

To consult for a cure, My heart is heavy in my breast-my eyes are full of tears, Crowd on to his doore in their carts and their My memory is wandering back to long departed years

carriages, To those bright days long, long ago,

Showin' their tongues When nought I dreamed of sordid care, of worldly woe

Or unlacin' their lungs, But roved, a gay, light-hearted boy, the woods of Kylinoe.

For divel one symptom the docther dispar

ages, There, in the springtime of my life, aand springtime of the

Troth, and he'll tumble year,

For high or humble, I've watched the snowdrop start from earth, the first young From his warm feather-bed wid no cross conbuds appear ;

trariety; The sparkling stream o'er pebbles flow,

Makin' as light The modest violet, and the golden primrose blow,

Of nursin' all night Within thy deep and mossy dells, beloved Kylinoe!

The beggar in rags as the belle of society. 'Twas there I wooed my Mary Dhuv, and won her for my bride,

And as if by meracle, Who bore me three fair daughters, and four sons, my age's

Ailments hysterical, pride;

Dad, wid dose of bread-pills he Though cruel fortune was our foe,

smother, And steeped us to the lips in bitter want and woe,

And quench the love-sickness Yet cling our hearts to those sad days, we passed near Kylinoe!

Wid wonderful quickness,

By prescribin' the right boys and girls to aich At length by misery bowed to earth, we left our native strand

other. And crossed the wide Atlantic to this free and happy land;

And the sufferin' childerThough toils we had to undergo,

Your eyes 'twould bewilder Yet soon content-and happy peace 'twas ours to know,

To see the wee craythurs his coat-tails unAnd plenty, such as never blessed our hearth near Kylinoe!


And aich of them fast And heaven a blessing has bestowed, more precious far than

On some treasure at last, wealth,

Well knowin' ould Mack's just a toy-shop out Has spared us to each other, full of years, yet strong in health: travelin'. Across the threshold when we go, We see our children's children round us grow,

Then, his doctherin' done, Like sapling oaks within thy woods, far distant Kylinoe.

In a rollickin' run

Wid the rod or the gun, he's the foremost to Yet sadness clouds our hearts to think that when we are no figure. more,

By Jupiter Ammon, Our bones must find a resting place, far, far from Erin's shore,

What Jack-snipe or salmon For us—no funeral sad and slow

E'er rose to backgammon his tail-fly or trigger! Within the ancient abbey's burial ground shall go

And hark! the view-hollo! No, we must slumber far from home, far, far from Kylinoe!

'Tis Mack in full follow

On black Faugh-a-ballagh the country-side Yet, 0! if spirits e'er can leave the appointed place of rest,

sailin'. Once more will I revisit thee, dear Isle that I love best,

Och, but you'd think O'er thy green vales will hover slow,

'Twas ould Nimrod in pink, And many a tearful parting blessing will bestow

Wid his spurs cryin' chink over park-wall and On all-but most of all on thee, my native Kylinoe!





He and his wig, wid the curls so carroty,
Aigle eye and complexion clarety;

SWEET Innisfallen, fare thee well,
Here's to his health,

May calm and sunshine long be thine!
Honor and wealth!

How fair thou art let others tell,-
Hip, hip, hooray! wid all hilarity,

To feel how fair shall long be mine.
Hip, hip, hooray! that the way,
All at once, without disparity!

Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell
One more cheer

In memory's dream that sunny smile,
For our docther dear,

Which o'er thee on that evening fell,
The king of his kind and the crame of

When first I saw thy fairy isle.
all charity.
Hip, hip, Hooray!

'Twas light, indeed, too blest for one,

Who had to turn to paths of care-

Through crowded haunts again to run,

And leave thee bright and silent there.
Oh, Larry McHale, he had little to fear,
And never could want, when the crops didn't

No more unto thy shores to come,

But on the world's rude ocean tost, He'd a house and demesne, and eight hundred

Dream of thee sometimes, as a home
a year,

Of sunshine he had seen and lost.
And a heart for to spend it had Larry Mc-

Far better in thy weeping hours
The soul of a party, the life of a feast,

To part from thee, as I do now,

When mist is o'er thy blooming bowers, And an ilegant song he could sing I'll be bail;

Like sorrow's veil on beauty's brow. He would ride with the rector and drink with

For, though unrival'd still thy grace, the priest,

Thou dost not look, as then, too blest,
Oh, the broth of a boy was old Larry Mc-

But thus in shadow, seen’st a place

Where erring man might hope to rest-
It's little he cared for the judge or recorder,

Might hope to rest, and find in thee His house was as big and as strong as a

A gloom like Eden's, on the day jail;

He left its shade, when every tree, With a cruel four-pounder he kept all in great

Like thine, hung weeping o'er his way.
He'd murder the country, would Larry Mc-

Weeping or smiling, lovely isle!

And all the lovelier for thy tears-
IIed a blunderbuss, too, of horse-pistols a pair;

For though but rare thy sunny smile, But his favorite weapon was always a flail;

'Tis heaven's own glance when it appears. I wish you could see how he'd empty a fair, For he handled it nately did Larry McHale.

Like feeling hearts, whose joys are few,

But, when indeed they come, divine His ancestors were kings before Moses was

The brightest light the sun e'er threw born,

Is lifeless to one gleam of thine! His mother descended from the great Granna

THE WATERFORD BOYS. He laughed all the Blakes and the Frenches to scorn,

WELL, boys! for divarsion we've all met together,
They were mushrooms compared to old Larry

I'll tell how from Waterford hither I came;

I cross'd the big ocean in dark, gloomy weather,

My heart it was light and my pocket the same. He sat down every day to a beautiful dinner, Sad at l'avin' ould Ireland, but once more on dry land,

With cousins and uncles enough for a tail; By the roadside a tavern I happen'd to spy; And, though loaded with debt, oh, the devil a And as I was meltin', my pockets I felt in thinner

The price of a drink-I was mortally dry.
Could law or the sheriff make Larry Mc-

CHORUS. With a larder supplied and a cellar well For we are the boys of fun, wit and element, stored,

Drinkin' and dancin' an' all other joys; None lived half so well from Fair Head to For ructions, destruction, devarsion and divilment, Kinsale,

Who can compare with the Waterford boys! And he piously said, “I've a plentiful board, And the Lord He is good to old Larry Mc- In the tavern I stroll’d, out the master he roll’d, Hale."

“Morrow," sez he, sez I, “Av you please,

Provide me a bed, but first bring me some bread, So fill up your glass and a high bumper give A bottle of porter and a small piece of cheese. him,

For times they are queer, and provisions are dear, It's little we'd care for tithes or repale; If you cannot get meat, with cheese be content." Ould Erin would be a fine country to live in, Sez the landlord, “ You're right," so he bro't me the bite;

If we only had plenty like Larry McHale. I roll'd up my cuffs and at it I went.



COLLEEN DHAS CRUTHIN AMOE. My bread and cheese ended, I then condescended To seek some repose, so I ax'd for a light,

The beam on the streamlet was playing, And soon in a doze I was under the clothes;

The dew-drop still hung on the thorn, I popp'd in my toes and I popp'd out the light.

When a blooming young couple were straying, But wakin' from sleepin' I heard somethin' creepin',

To taste the mild fragrance of morn. Meand'rin' and wand'rin' about my bedpost;

He sighed as he breathed forth his ditty, Squeakin' and scratchin', thinks I 'mid my watchin',

And she felt her breast softly to grow; 'Pon my conscience, you've mighty long claws for a ghost.” “Oh, look on your lover with pity,

Ma Colleen dhas Cruthin Amoe.

My breath I suspended, the noise it soon ended,

I ventured to peep from beneath the bedclothes; “ Millia murtha! what's that?" a thumpin' jack rat,

With a leap from the floor, lit atop of ny nose. “ Thunder sweep ye!

sez I, for a schemin' ould vagabone, Take that, and that," as I leaped on the floor, Shouting, “Murther and fire, Tim, Jerry, Maria,

The rats they are eatin' me up by the score.”

“Whilst green is yon bank's mossy pillow,

Or evening shall weep the soft tear,
Or the streamlet shall steal 'neath the willow,

So long shall thy image be dear.
Oh, fly to these arms for protection

If pierced by the arrow of woe,
Then smile on my tender affection,

Ma Colleen dhas Cruthin Amoe.”

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The landlord affrighten' came with a light in,
“I'm murdered alive," sez I, " so must away.”

She sighed as his ditty was ended,
Sez he, " Before goin', id have you be knowin',

Her heart was too full to reply; For supper and bed you've five shillin's to pay."

Oh, joy and compassion were blended “ Five shillin's for what? och, don't be disgracin'

To light the mild beam of her eye. Yourself for a rogue," sez I, “if you please;

He kissed her soft hand: “ What above thee
When I can't sleep for rats, you, a brazen ould face on ye, Could heaven, in its bounty, bestow ? "
To charge me five shillin's for plain bread and cheese." He kissed her soft cheek: “Oh, I love thee,

Ma Colleen dhas Cruthin Amoe."
Sez he, “ Perish the rats, I wish they would l’ave me,
They ruin my trade and I'm not worth a rap."

Sez I, “ The five shillin's would you forgive me,

An' i'll tell you how to keep out every rat.”
Agreed !” Then sez I, “ To supper invite them,

With your kind attention, your good conde.

cension, And plain bread and cheese set before them, be sure;

I'll make bold to mention of Erin so green; Don't mind if they're willin', but charge them five shillin', Bad luck to the rat that you'll ever see more."

Without hesitation, I'll tell how this nation

Became of creation the gem of the Queen.

It happened one morning, without any warnPAT MALLOY.


That Vanus was born in that beautiful say; At sixteen years of age I was my mother's fair-haired boy,

And by that same token-och! sure 'twas proShe kept a little huckster shop, her name was Malloy;

vokin', “ I've fourteen children, Pat,” says she, “ which heaven to me Her pinions were soaking and wouldn't give has sent,

But children ain't like pigs, you know, they can't pay the rent!”
She gave me every shilling there was in the till,
And kissed me fifty times or more, as if she'd never get her fill;

Oh, heaven bless you, Pat,” said she, " and don't forget, my

This story was told, boys, by sages of old, That ould Ireland is your country, and your name is Pat Mal- boys; loy!”

Who thus did unfold, boys, how Erin was

born. Oh, England is a purty place, of gold there is no lack-I trudged from York to London, wid me scythe upon me back; The English girls are beautiful, their loves I don't decline, Now, Neptune, who knew her, began to pursue The eating and the drinking, too, are beautiful and fine;

her, But in a corner of me heart, which nobody can see,

In order to woo her--the wicked old Jew; Two eyes of Irish blue are always peeping out at me!

And very nigh caught her a-top of the water,

Great Oh, Molly, darlin', never fear, I'm still your own dear boy

Jupiter's daughter, who cried, Ould Ireland is me country, and me name is Pat Malloy.

“ Wishastro!”

When Jove, the great janious, looked down From Ireland to America across the seas I roam,

and saw Vanus, And every shilling that I got, ah, sure I sent it home;

And Neptune, so “hanious,” pursuing her Me mother couldn't write, but, oh, there came from Father Boyce:

wild; Oh, heaven bless you, Pat,” says she-I hear me mother's voice! He roared out like thunder, he'd tear him But now I'm going home again, as poor as I begun,

asunderTo make a happy girl of Moll, and, sure, I think I can;

And sure 'twas no wonder, for tazing his Me pockets they are empty, but me heart is filled with joy,

child.-CHORUS. For ould Ireland is me country, and me name is Pat Malloy. A star then espying, close 'round by him lying,

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