ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

KITTY TYRRELL.

YOU RE looking as fresh as the morn, darling,

You're looking as bright as the day; But while on your charms I'm dilating. You're stealing my poor heart away. But keep it and welcome, mavourneen, Its loss I'm not going to mourn; Yet one heart's enough for a body,

So, pray, give me yours in return; Mavourneen, mavourneen,

O, pray, give me yours in return. I've built me a neat little cot, darling, I've pigs and potatoes in store; I've twenty good pounds in the bank, love, And may be a pound or two more. It's all very well to have riches, But I'm such a covetous elf,

I can't help still sighing for something, And, darling, that something's yourself; Mavourneen, mavourneen,

And that something, you know, is yourself.

You're smiling, and that's a good sign, darling,

Say "yes," and you'll never repent;
Or if you would rather be silent
Your silence I'll take for consent.
That good-natured dimple's a tell-tale,
Now all that I have is your own;
This week you may be Kitty Tyrrell,
Next week you'll be Mistress Malone;
Mavourneen, mavourneen,

You'll be my own Mistress Malone.

LIMERICK IS BEAUTIFUL.
LIMERICK is beautiful,

As everybody knows;
The river Shannon, full of fish,
Through that city flows.

But' tis not the river or the fish
That weighs upon my mind;

Nor with the town of Limerick

I've any fault to find.-Ochone, ochone.

The girl I love is beautiful

And soft-eyed as the fawn;

She lives in Garryowen,

And is called the Colleen Bawn. And proudly as that river flows Through that famed city,

As proudly, and without a word,

That Colleen goes by me.-Ochone, ochone.

If I was made the Emperor
Of Russia to command,

Or Julius Cæsar, or the

Lord Lieutenant of the land, I'd give my plate and golden store, I'd give up my army;

The horses, the rifles, and the foot,

And the Royal Artillery.—Ochone, ochone.
I'd give the crown from off my head
My people on their knees;

I'd give the fleet of sailing ships
Upon the briny seas.

A beggar I would go to bed,
And happy rise at dawn;

If by my side, for my sweet bride,

I had found my Colleen Bawn.-Ochone,

ochone.

[blocks in formation]

"Very well, thin," says she, " ye can lave the house and be sure to take wid ye yer 'right';

And if Michael and Nora think just as ye do, ye can all of ye lave to-night."

So just for St. Patrick's glory we wint; and, as sure as Mary Magee is me name,

It's a house full of nagurs she's got now, which the same is a sin and a shame.

Bad luck to them all! A poor body, I think, had need of a comferable glass;

It's a miserable time in Ameriky for a dacent Irish-born lass. If she sarves the saints,, and is kind to her friends, then she loses her home and her pay,

And there's thousands of innocent martyrs like me on ivery St. Patrick's Day.

THE SPRIG OF SHILLELAH.

OCH, love is the soul of a nate Irishman,

He loves all the lovely, loves all that he can,

With your sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green ?" His heart is good-humor'd, 'tis honest and sound, No malice or hatred is there to be found. He courts and marries, he drinks and he fights, For love, all for love, for in that he delights,

With his sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green.
Who has e'er had the luck to see Donnybrook fair,
An Irishman all in his glory is there,

With his sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green;
His clothes spick and span, new without e'er a speck,
A neat Barcelona tied 'round his white neck,
He goes to a tent and he spends half a crown,

He meets with a friend, and for love knocks him down
With his sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green.

At evening returning, as homeward he goes,
His heart light with whisky, his head soft with blows
From a sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green.
He meets with his Shelah, who, blushing a smile,
Cries: "Get you gone, Pat!" yet consents all the while;
To the priest then they go, and nine months after that
A fine baby cries out: "How d'ye do, father Pat,

With your sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green."

Bless the country, say I, that gave Patrick his birth,
Bless the land of the oak and its neighboring earth,
Where grows the shillelah and shamrock so green;
May the sons of the Thames, the Tweed, and the Shannon,
Drub the foes who dare plant on our confines a cannon;
United and happy at loyalty's shrine,

May the rose, leek, and thistle long flourish and twine
Round a sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green.

[blocks in formation]

"Twas told of thee the world around,
Was hoped for thee by all,
That with one gallant sunward bound
Thou'd burst long ages' thrall;
Thy fate was tried, alas! and those
Who periled all for thee

Were cursed and branded as thy foes,
Acushla gal machree.

What fate is thine, unhappy isle,
That e'en the trusted few
Should pay thee back with fraud and guile
When most they should be true?
'Twas not thy strength or courage failed
Nor those whose souls were free;

By moral force wert thou betrayed,
Acushla gal machree.

TEDDY O'NEAL.

ACUSHLA GAL MACHREE-Continued. I've given thee my youth and prime, And manhood's waning years; I've blest thee in thy sunniest time, And shed for thee my tears; And mother, tho' thou'st cast away The child who'd die for thee, My fondest wish is still to pray— For Cushla gal machree.

I've tracked for thee the mountain sides
And slept within the brake,
More lonely than the swan that glides
On Lua's fairy lake;

The rich have spurned me from their door
Because I'd set thee free,

Yet do I love thee more and more--
Acushla gal machree.

OH, MOLLY, I CAN'T SAY YOU'RE HONEST.

Он, Molly, I can't say you're honest,
You've stolen my heart from my breast;
I feel like a bird that's astonished

When young vagabones rob its nest.
My brightest of sunshine at night is,
"Tis just between midnight and dawn,
For then, Molly dear, my delight is
To sing you my little cronawn-
Weirasthru!
Phillilew!

But I'm kiltMay the quilt

Lie light on your beautiful form
When the weather is hot,

But, my love, when 'tis not,

May it rowl you up cosey and warm!

Now, if you are sleepin', dear Molly,
Oh, don't let me waken you, dear;
Some tindher memorial I'll lave you,
To just let you know I was here.
So I'll throw a big stone at the windy,
And if any glass I should brake,
"Tis for love all the panes I am takin'-
What wouldn't I smash for your sake?
Weirasthru!

Phillilew!

But I'm kiltMay the quilt

Lie light on your beautiful form
When the weather is hot,

But, my love, when 'tis not,
May it rowl you up cosey and warm!

I know that your father is stingy,

And likewise your mother the same; 'Tis very small change that you'll bring me, Exceptin' the change o' your name; So be quick with the change, dearest Molly, Be the same more or less as it may, And my own name, my darlin', I'll give you The minnit that you name the day!

Weirasthru!

Phillilew!

But I'm kilt

May the quilt

Lie light on your beautiful form
When the weather is hot,
But, my love, when 'tis not,
May it rowl you up cosey and warm!

I DREAMT but last night, oh! bad cess to the dreaming,
Sure I'd die if I thought 'twould come truly to pass;

I dreamt, while the tears down my pillow were streaming,
That Teddy was courting another fair lass.

Oh! didn't I wake with a weeping and wailing,

The grief of the thought was too much to conceal;
My mother cried, Norah, child, what is your ailing?
But all I could utter was Teddy O'Neal-
My mother cried, Norah, child, what is your ailing?
But all I could utter was Teddy O'Neal.

I went to the cabin he danc'd his wild jigs in,
As neat a mud palace as ever was seen;
Considering it served to keep poultry and pigs in,
I'm sure you'll allow 'twas most decent and clean;
But now all around it looks cold, sad, and dreary,
All sad, and all silent, no piper, no eel;
Not even the sun through the casement shines cheery,
Since I lost the dear darling boy, Teddy O'Neal-
Not even the sun through the casement shines cheery,
Since I lost the dear darling boy, Teddy O'Neal.

Shall I ever forget when the big ship was ready,
And the moment was come for my love to depart;
How I sobbed like a spalpeen, good-by to you, Teddy,
With a tear on my cheek, and a stone on my heart?
He said 'twas to better his fortune he wander'd,

But what would be gold to the joy I should feel
If he'd only come back to me, honest and loving,
Still poor, yet my own darling Teddy O'Neil-
If he'd only come back to me, honest and loving,
Still poor, yet my own darling Teddy O'Neal.
NELL FLAHERTY'S DRAKE.

My name it is Nell, right candid I tell,

And I live near a cool hill I never will deny, I had a large drake, the truth for to spake, My grandfather left me when going to die; He was merry and sound, and would weigh twenty pound, The universe round would I rove for his sake. Bad luck to the robber, be he drunken or sober, That murdered Nell Flaherty's beautiful drake.

His neck it was green, and rare to be seen,
He was fit for a queen of the highest degree.
His body so white, it would you delight,

He was fat, plump, and heavy, and brisk as a bee.
This dear little fellow, his legs they were yellow,

He could fly like a swallow, or swim like a hake, But some wicked habbage, to grease his white cabbage, Has murdered Nell Flaherty's drake!

May his pig never grunt, may his cat never hunt,

That a ghost may him haunt in the dark of the night. May his hens never lay, may his horse never neigh, May his goat fly away like an old paper kite; May his duck never quack, may his goose be turned black And pull down his stack with her long yellow beak. May the scurvy and itch never part from the britch

Of the wretch that murdered Nell Flaherty's drake!

May his rooster ne'er crow, may his bellows not blow,
Nor potatoes to grow-may he never have none-
May his cradle not rock, may his chest have no lock,

May his wife have no frock for to shade her backbone. That the bugs and the fleas may this wicked wretch tease, And a piercing north breeze make him tremble and shake. May a four years' old bug build a nest in the lug

Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's drake.

NELL FLAHERTY'S DRAKE.-Continued.

May his pipe never smoke, may his tea-pot be broke,
And to add to the joke may his kettle not boil;
May he be poorly fed till the hour he is dead.

May he always be fed on lobscouse and fish oil.
May he swell with the gout till his grinders fall out,
May he roar, howl, and shout with a horrid toothache,
May his temple wear horns and his toes corns,

The wretch that murdered Nell Flaherty's drake.

May his dog yelp and howl with both hunger and cold,
May his wife always scold till his brains go astray.
May the curse of each hag, that ever carried a bag,
Light down on the wag till his head it turns gray.
May monkeys still bite him, and mad dogs affright him,
And every one slight him, asleep or awake.
May wasps ever gnaw him, and jackdaws ever claw him,
The monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's drake.

But the only good news I have to diffuse,

Is of Peter Hughs and Paddy McCade,

And crooked Ned Manson, and big-nosed Bob Hanson,
Each one had a grandson of my beautiful drake.
Oh! my bird he has dozens of nephews and cousins,
And one I must have, or my heart it will break.
To keep my mind easy, or else I'll run crazy,
And so ends the song of my beautiful drake.

THE IRISH GIRL.

ONE evening, as I strayed down the river's side,
Looking all around me an Irish girl I spied;

So red and rosy were her cheeks, and yellow was her hair,
And costly were the robes which my Irish girl did wear.

Her shoes of Spanish leather were bound round with spangles gay,
The tears came down her crystal eyes, and she began to say:
Ochone, and alas! asthore areen machree,

Why should you go and leave me, and slight your own Molly?

The first time that I saw my love, I was sick and very bad,
All the request I asked was that she might tie my head;
I asked her if one as bad as me could ever mend again,
For love's a sore disorder-did you ever feel the pain?
My love she'll not come nigh me for all the moan I make,
Nor neither will she pity me if my poor heart should break;
But was I of some noble blood and she of low degree,
She would hear my lamentation and come and pity me.
My only love is fairer than the lilies that do grow,
She has a voice that's clearer than any winds that blow;
She's the promise of this country, like Venus in the air,
And let her go where'er she will, she's my joy and only dear.
Be it so, or be it not, of her I take my chance,

The first time that I saw my love she struck me in a trance;
Her ruby lips and sparkling eyes have so bewitched me,
That were I king of Ireland, queen of it she should be.

THE LAKES OF COLD FINN.

Ir was early one morning young William had rose,
Straightway to his comrades' bed-chamber he goes,
Saying: Comrades, royal comrades, let nobody know,
For it's a fine morning and a-bathing we'll go.

So they walked right along till they came to Long Lane,
And the first that they met was the keeper of the game;
He advised them for sorrow to turn back again,
For their doom was to die on a watery main.

So young William stepped off and swam the lake 'round,
He swam 'round the island, but not the right ground,
Saying: Comrades, royal comrades, don't you venture in,
For there's depth in false water, in the lakes of Cold Finn.

THE TIPPERARY CHRISTENING.

It was down in that place, Tipperary, Where they're so airy, and so contrary, Where they kick up the devil's figarie,

When they christened the beautiful boy. In comes the piper, sot thinking, And a-winking, and a-blinking, And a noggin of punch he was drinking, And wishing the parents great joy.

When home from the church they came,
Father Tom and old Mikey Branigan,
And scores of as pretty boys and girls
As ever you'd wish for to see;
When in through the door,
Hogan, the tinker, Lather and Lanagan,
Kicked up a row, and wanted to know,
Why they wasn't asked to the spree.

Then the boy set up such a-bawling, And such a-squalling, and caterwauling, For he got such a mauling,

Oh, that was the day of great joy. Then the piper set up such a-moaning, And such a-droning, and such a-croning, In the corner his comether was turning, When they christened sweet Dennis, the boy.

The aristocracy came to the party,
There was McCarty, light and hearty,
With Florence Berdelia Fogarty,

Who said that was French for a name;
Dionysius Alphonso Mulrooney,
Oh, so spooney and so looney,
With the charming Evangeline Mooney,
Of society she was the cream.

Cora Teresa Maud McCann,

Angelina Rocke, and Julia McCafferty, Rignold Mormon Duke, Morris McGan, And Clarence Ignatius McGurk; Cornelius Horatio Flaherty's wife, Adolphus Grace, and Dr. O'Rafferty, Eva McLaughlin, and Cora Muldoon, And Brigadier-General Burke;

They were dancing the polka-mazurka,
"Twas a worker, not a shirker,
And a voice of Vienna, la Turker,

And the polka-redowa divine;
After dancing, they went in to lunching,
Oh, such munching, and such crunching,
They were busy as bees at a lunching,

With their coffee, tea, whisky, and wine.

They had all kinds of tea, they had Shosong,

They had Ningnong, and Drinkdong,
With Oolong, and Boolong, and Toolong,
And teas that were made in Japan;
They had sweetmeats, imported from Java,
And from Youver and from Havre,
In the four-masted steamer 66
Manarver,"

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]
« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »