SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND. What's that? Am I dhramin'? You've only been shammin'? Just thryin' to test the affection in me; But you're the sly divil! There now! Please be civil; 66 "A shilling." The missus she looks all around her, Pat grumbled. but paid and got seated, 66 Do you think that Pat Roach would sit aisy, But soon sure the row did subside, THE VOLUNTEERS. “MOTHER—dear mother, tell me what meant the proud array Don't hug me to death! I'm not Kitty Ma- Of armed men and prancing steeds which passed yon mountain gee. Your kisses confuse me; Well, I'll not refuse ye I know you'll be tindher and loving wid me; So show my conthrition For doubts and suspicion, way? And who was he of noble mien and brow of lordly pride, I'll ax for first bridesmaid Miss Kitty Ma- As rang the brazen trumpets out, and cheer'd th' assembled gee. crowd? THE VOLUNTEERS,-Cotinued. "Methinks the Spartan chief who fell at famed Thermopyla, Of whom we read but yesternight, was such a man as heThe same proud port and cagie eye-the same determined frown, frown, And supple arm to shield a friend or strike a foeman down. "And then those troops as on they passed, n proud and glittering show, Seemed worthy of the chief who led-'twere pity of the foe Who roused to wrath their slumbering might, or wronged our own green land I'd promise them a scattered host with many a shivered brand." "You're right, dear Mabel, for the chief who leads that warrior "That they have nobly kept this pledge, bear witness, one and all, The bootless plots of England, the baffled hosts of Gaul. There's a three-legged stool, wid a table to match, That they may long be spared to guard our country's rights And the door of the shanty is locked with a divine, Should be your prayer at night and morn, my child, as it is mine." BEAUTIFUL SHAMROCK OF OLD IRELAND. THERE'S a sweet little spot away down by Cape Clear, In his hat good St. Patrick used always to wear latch; There's a nate feather mattress, all bustin' wid straw, For the want of a bedstead it lies on the floor. Arrah, me honey! w-h-a-c-k! Paddy's the boy! There's a snug little bureau widout paint or gilt, Made of boards that was left when the shanty was built; There's a three-cornered mirror hangs up on the wall, THE IRISHMAN'S SHANTY.-Continued. He has three rooms in one-kitchen, bedroom, and hall, And his chist it is three wooden pegs in the wall; Two suits of ould clothes makes his wardrobe complete, One for wear in the shanty, the same in the street. Arrah, me honey! w-h-a-c-k! Paddy's the boy! There is one who partakes of his sorrows and joys, Attinds to the shanty, the girls and the boys; (The brats he thinks more of than gold that's refined), But Biddy's the jewel that's set in his mind. Arrah, me honey! w-h-a-c-k! Paddy's the boy! THE IRISHMAN. THE savage loves his native shore, Though rude the soil and chill the air; Then well may Erin's sons adore Their isle which nature formed so fair. What flood reflects a shore so sweet As Shannon sweet or pastoral Baun? Or who a friend or foe can meet So generous as an Irishman? His hands is rash, his heart is warm, None more repents a deed of harm, And none forgives with nobler pride; He may be duped, but won't be daredMore fit to practise than to plan; He dearly earns his poor reward, And spends it like an Irishman. If strange or poor, for you he'll pay, And guide to where you safe may be; If you're his guest, while e'er you stay, His cottage holds a jubilee. His inmost soul he will unlock, And if he may your secrets scan, Your confidence he scorns to mock, For faithful is an Irishman. By honor bound in woe or weal, Whate'er she bids he dares to do; Be where it ought in danger's van; Erin, loved land, from age to age, Be thou more great, more famed and free, May peace be thine, or shouldst thou wage Defensive war-cheap victory. May plenty bloom in every field, Which gentle breezes softly fan, And cheerful smiles serenely gild The home of every Irishman. RIGGED OUT. I'm a brand from the burning, a genuine saint, Newly purged and set free from Papistical taint; Yea, I'm one of that holy, that sanctified troop Whose souls have been chastened by flannel and soup. I'll tell how so blessed a change came about: I always was lazy, a slouch, and a lout; I never was willing to delve or to dig, But I looked for support to my wife and the pig. My spirit was never confused or perplexed And so by a ditch near my cabin I lay, He spoke, and he said: "I perceive by your face, Then he bade me arise and proceed with him home, I felt at the moment the breeches went on The hat was convincing, as one might expect, Then he raised up his hands and his eyes, and began Then he bade me go talk unto Biddy, my wife, I hurried to Biddy-she shrieked with affright, She pitched me right out and she bolted the door, From town unto town have I traveled since then, Well, my clothes are supplied, and secure is my pay, See where Mononia's heroes lie, proud Owen More's descendants, "Tis they that won the glorious name and had the grand attendants! If they were forced to bow to fate, as every mortal bows, Can you be proud, can you be stiff, my Woman of Three Cows? Oh! the heart, that has truly lov'd, never for gets, But as truly loves on to the close; As the sunflower turns on her god, when he GOOD people, all, give ear I pray, To my misfortunes, great and small, And when we got to the end of the route, To see if I had got such stuff As money, grub, tobacco, or snuff; They measured me up from root to tip, Says, "My jolly old cove, what brought you here?" What do you think brought me out, What brought me here but your railroad route? Then they gather'd 'round me lke so many fools, And one talked about the rules, That each newcomer should sing a song, Or they'd break his wind and give him a whack, Oh they'd take him down to black Jack, The deputy warden shouts, "All in." Then one by one we march around the tub GRANDFATHER BRIAN. GRANDFATHER BRIAN departed this life, it was on Saint Patrick's He started off to the next world without ever asking the way; day, Leaving me all of his riches, with a great deal of wealth, d'ye see? With a pair of his cloth leather breeches that buttoned up down to the knee. CHORUS. Hurrah for my grandfather Brian! I wish he was living, och, sure! And every day he'd be dying to be leaving me ten times as much more. He left me the whole two sides of bacon, only one half was just cut away, With a broomstick with the head of a rake on, and a field full of straw to make hay; He left me some props and some patches, with a beautiful new smock frock, Six beautiful hens to lay duck's eggs, only one turned out to be a cock. He left me a well full of water, only some said it was dry, Three pitfuls of sand, lime and mortar, and a squinting Tomcat with one eye; He left me an old dog and a kitten, his lapstone, knife and brad-awl, With a lump of Dutch cheese that was bitten and a box full of nothing at all. He left me a glass that was broken, with a pair of new boots without soles, And, faith! if the truth must be spoken, a kettle with fifty-five holes; A knife board made out of leather, a treacle pot half full of glue, A down bed without ever a feather, and a fine coat nigh handy in two. He left me a very fine clock, too, full of brass wheels made out of wood; A key without ever a lock, too, a stool to sit down where I stood. A blanket made out of cloth patches, a bread basket made of tinware, A window without any sashes, and a horse collar made for a mare. He left me a starling, a beauty, but it turned out to be a thrush, He bid me in life do my duty, and never comb my hair with a brush; He left me six pounds all n copper, with a splendid straight rule double bent, And a beautiful bacca stopper with a view of Blackwater in Kent. He left me some whisky for drinking and a beautiful stick, look at that, And also a she bull for milking and a second-hand silk beaver hat; He left me a shirt all in tatters among other things I must state, And a rare stock of old broken platter and, in fact, all the family plate. He left me the bog for a garden, one night it got covered with the flood, And when I went out in the morning I went up to my two eyes in mud; He left me a fine mare for breeding, it's age was over thres score, And when I come here next evening I will tell you ten times as much more. |