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O welcome was thy bright green shore,
That rose upon my sight;
To chase the long, long night;
I wove the tendril bands Of friendships great, there's none could cloy
Old Ireland's hearts and hands.
Fair Kathleen started-well did she know
( what will not love discover! Her country's scourge, and her father's foe,
'Twas the voice of her Saxon lover, “Raymond!”—“Oh hush, my Kathleen dear,
My path's beset with danger;
Upon thy dark-haired stranger.
My bark is out at sea, love!
Then haste away with me, love!
To Sidney's daughter given;
A sacrifice to heaven.
“But away, my love, away with me!
The breeze to the west is blowing; And thither, across the dark-blue sea,
Are England's bravest going.
Comes over the exile's sorrow,
Or his hope of a happier morrow.
By wood and mountain shaded,
Till the lamp of life be faded.
The storms of life we'll weather,
We live, love, die together!
An hundred swords are gleaming:
His heart's best blood is streaming. In vain does he doff the hood so white,
And vain his falchion flashing: Five murderous brands through his corslet bright
Within his heart are clashing!
My heart is a nest that is robbed and forsaken, When gone from my sight is the girl that I
love; One word from your lips can my gladness
awakenYour smile is the smile of the angels above. Then meet me at twilight, beside the bright
waters; The love that I've told you, I'd whisper
once more; Oh! sweetest and fairest of Erin's fair
daughters, Dear rose of Killarney, Mavourneen Asthore.
Saw ye that cloud o'er the moonlight cast,
Fire from its blackness breaking? Heard ye that cry on the midnight blast,
The voice of terror shrieking? 'Tis the fire from Ardsaillach's willow'd height,
Tower and temple falling; 'Tis the groan of death, and the cry of fright,
From monks for mercy calling!
THERE was a man lived in the West,
And her name was Noral, Maggie Noral,
Dingy dural, Smig. Maglooral, walk off. Arrah! she goes to bed at eleven o'clock, Musha dural ling, du ral laddy, O! And she calls the maid for to wind the clock, For she milked the cow from the chimney top.
Brave was his spirit, yet mild as the Brahmin, His heart bled in anguish the wrongs of the
poor; To relieve their hard sufferings he braved
every danger, The vengeance of tyrants undauntedly bore. Even before him the proud titled villains in
power Were seen, though in ermine, in terror to
cower; But, alas! he is gone, he has fallen, a young
And I haven't a word to say;
In the meadows a-making hay.
In my new sun-bonnet to wear;
For he follows me everywhere
Far away to the golden West;
For the secret I ne'er confessed.
I could hear her sob and cry,
But never a word said 1-
me, For my heart-my heart is over the sea.
She sat on grass till she caught the cramp,
Now this morning she arose from her sweet repose,
ST. PATRICK'S DAY.
We'll blend them together in concord to-night;
The light of the day,
As it glides away, Paints with orange the white clouds that float in the west:
And the billows that roar
Round our own island shore
Where sky and sea meet in the distance away:
We'll blend them in love on St. Patrick's Day.
Are nought but the sunlight resolved into parts: They're beauteous, no doubt; but I think that the ray, boys, Unbroken, more lights up and warms our hearts.
Each musical tone,
Struck one by one,
But let the hand ring
All at once every string-
In unison pealing to heaven away;
In hues, tones, or hearts, on St. Patrick's Day.
Let each Irish heart wear those emblems so true; Be fresh as the green, and be pure as the white, boys, Be bright as the orange, sincere as blue.
I care not a jot
Be your scarf white or not,
I ask not your creed,
If you'll stand in her need
The foe of her foes, let them be who they may;
Be the Irishman's toast on St. Patrick's Day.
I love my native country,
And tho' richer lands I've seen, Yet I can't forget ould Erin,
Where the grass grows green.
Poor Pat is often painted
With a ragged coat and hat; His heart and hospitality
Hlas much to do with that. Let slanderers say what they will,
They cannot call him mean; Sure a stranger's always welcome
Where the grass grows green.
He's foolish, but not vicious,
His faults I won't defend; His purse to help the orphan,
His life to serve a friend. He'll give without a murmur,
So his follies try and screen; For there's noble hearts in Erin,
Where the grass grows green.
NORAH CREINA. Who are you that walks this way so like the Empress Dejanina ? Is it true what people say, that you're the famous Shilnagirah? Or are you the great Pompey? or Britain's Queen, bold Til
bureena ? Or are you Dido, or Doctor Magee? oh no, says she, I'm Norah Creina!
CHORUS. I'm the girl that makes the stir from Cork along to Skibbereena; All the day we drink strong tea, and whisky, too, says Norah
Creina. Who are you that ax my naine? Othello, Wat Tyler or Julius
Cæsar? Or are you Venus, of bright fame? or that old fogy Nebuchad
nezzar? Or maybe you are Pluto stout, or jolly old Bacchus, drunk and
hearty, There, my lass, your eye is out, for I am Napoleon Bonaparte.
'Tis true he has a weakness
For a drop of something pure, But that's a slight debility
That many more endure. He's fond of fun, he's witty,
Though his wit 'tis not too keen, For there's feeling hearts in Erin,
Where the grass grows green.
There's not a true-born Irishman,
Wherever he may be, But loves the little emerald
That sparkles on the sea.
Shine peaceful and serene
Won't you dine with me to-day? I'll send for you a horse and
crupper, And, lest you should refuse to stay, I'll tell you who we'll have
for supper: Macgillicuddy of the Reeks, and Donaghue Glen, the Duke of
Glo'ster, Oliver Cromwell and Brian O’Lynn, Cadwallader Waddy and
THE ROCK OF CASHEL.-Continued.
THE MAID OF CASTLE CRAIGH.
THREE times the fowers have faded since I left my native home, Close to my heart, and, even as thou wast Through hopeless love enlisting, in foreign lands to roam; trod,
But whersoe'er I wandered, near or far away, So with thee trodden be!
No maiden could e'er compare with the Maid of Castle Craigh. 0, for one hour a thousand years ago,
Her blooming cheek was like the rose, all blushing; and her eye Within thy precincts dim,
Like yonder star, that shines afar so bright and tenderly;
Her bosom like the snow, in evening's rosy ray,
I courted her a year and more, and sought to gain her love, Around thy silver shrines
And sure her heart was fond and warm, though timid as a dove;
For oh! I never knew, till I was far away, The people kneeling prostrate far away,
That I had won thy gentle heart, dear Maid of Castle Craigh. In thick and chequer'd lines.
But now my griefs are all at rest, the wars et length are o'er, To see the Prince of Cashel o'er the rest,
And landed safe on Erin's soil, I'll never leave it more; Their prelate and their king,
But live in peace and joy, to bless each happy day, The sacred bread and chalice by him blest, With thee, my own, my only love, dear Maid of Castle Craigh.
Earth's holiest offering.
To hear, in piety's own Celtic tongue,
I heard thy dear voice, and I wept to its lay; 0, to be then and there!
Every pulse of my heart the sweet measure was keeping There was a time all this within thy walls
Till Killarney's wild echoes had borne it away. Was felt, and heard, and seen;
Oh! tell me, my own love, is this our last meeting!
Shall we wander no more in Killarney's green bow'rs, Faint image only now thy sight recalls
To watch the bright sun o'er the dim hills retreating, Of all that once hath been.
And the wild stag at rest in his bed of spring ow’rs ? The creedless, heartless, murderous robber
Oh! Dermot Astore, etc. came, And never since that time
Oh! Dermot Astore! how this fond heart would flutter, Round thy torn altars burned the sacred
When I met thee by night in the shady borcen, flame,
And heard thine own voice in a soft whisper utter
Those words of endearment, “ Mavourneen colleen!” Or rose the chant sublime.
I know we must part, but oh! say not for ever, Thy glory in a crimson tide went down,
That it may be for years adds enough to my pain; Beneath the cloven hoof
But I'll cling to the hope, that though now we must sever, Altar and priest, miter, and cope, and crown,
In some blessed hour I shall meet thee again. And choir, and arch, and roof.
Oh! Dermot Astore, etc.
SWEET KATHLEEN THE GIRL I ADORE.
Far away o'er the sea, there's a spot dear to me
In old Erin, the land I adore, wast,
Where a colleen so true, with sweet eyes oh so blue, Shall lift thee from the tomb,
Is waiting to greet me once more. And clothe thee, for the spoiling of the past,
I left her one day for to roam far away, In more celestial bloom.
As a wanderer from my native shore;
But I long to go back o'er the sea's bounding track, And psalm, and hymn, and gold, and precious
To sweet Kathleen the girl I adore.
Sweet Kathleen my darling, I'll never forget,
Remembrance of you thrills me o'er; And endless prayer, and crucifix, and shrine, Oh my heart holds one hope, 'tis to see just once more And all religion's dower,
Sweet Kathleen the girl I adore. And thronging worshipers shall yet be thine0, but to see that hour!
Though long years have gone by, since I kissed her good-bye
On the old village green that sad day, And who shall smite thee then ?-and who shall
Still the tears on her face, in my dreams I can trace, see
As she bade me God speed, on my way; Thy second glory o'er?
And at night oft I pray, for the dawn of the day When they who make thee free themselves
That will give me a glimpse just once more are free,
Of my dear native isle, and the old-fashioned stile, To fall no more.
Where I first met the girl I adore.-REFRAIN.