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· Tell him the house is lonesome-like and
cold, The fire itself seems robbed of half its
light; But, maybe, 'tis my eyes are growing old, And things look dim before my failing
sight. For all that tell him 'twas my self that
spun The shirts you bring, and stitched them
“Give him my blessing, morning, noon, and
night, Tell him my prayers are offered for his
good, That he may keep his Maker still in sight, And firmly stand as his brave father
Paddy McCABE was dying one day,
And Father Molloy he came to confess him; Paddy prayed hard he would make no delay,
But forgive him his sins and make haste for to bless him. “First tell me your sins," says Father Molloy, “For I'm thinking you've not been a very good boy.”
Oh," says Paddy, “ so late in the evenin', I fear
Oh! did you ne'er hear of Kate Kearney?
That lurks in the eye of Kate Kearney.
“Well, I'll read from a book," says Father Molloy,
“ The manifold sins that humanity's heir to; And when you hear those that your conscience annoy,
You'll just squeeze my hand, as acknowledging thereto." Then the father began the dark roll of iniquity, And Paddy, thereat, felt his conscience grow rickety, And he gave such a squeeze that the priest gave a roar“Oh, murdher!” says Paddy,
“ don't read any more, For, if you keep readin', by all that is thrue, Your Reverence's fist will be soon black and blue; Besides, to be throubled my conscience begins, That your Reverence should have any hand in my sins, So you'd betther suppose I committed them all, For whether they're great ones, or whether they're small, Or if they're a dozen, or if they're fourscore, 'Tis your Reverence knows how to absolve them, astore; So I'll say in a word, I'm no very good boy And therefore your blessin', sweet Father Malloy."
Oh! should you e'er meet this Kate Kearney, Who lives on the banks of Killarney, Beware of her smile, for many a wile
Lies hid in the smile of Kate Kearney. Though she looks so bewitchingly simple, Yet there's mischief in every dimple; And who dares inhale her sigh's spicy gale, Must die by the breath of Kate Kearney.
“Well,” says Father Molloy, "if your sins I forgive,
So you must forgive all your enemies truly; And promise me also that, if you should live,
You'll leave off your old tricks, and begin to live newly."
FATHER MOLLOY.-Continued. “I forgive ev'rybody,” says Pat, with a groan,
Except that big vagabone Micky Malone; And him I will murdher if ever I can—"
Tut, tut! says the priest, “ you're a very bad man; For without your forgiveness, and also repentance, You'll ne'er go to heaven, and that my sentence.” “ Poo!” says Paddy McCabe, “ that's a very hard case With your Reverence and heaven I'm content to make pace; But with heaven and your Reverence I wondher-Och honeYou would think of comparin' that blackguard MaloneBut since I'm hard press'd and that I must forgive, I forgive-if I die-but as sure as I live That ugly blackguard I will surely desthroy!-So, now for your blessin', sweet Father Molloy!”
WHEN to Dublin I came from the sweet County Down,
Ri tu ral, ru ral, ri tu ral, ru ral le, etc.
Yet, Father! shouldst Thou deem it right
To shower on me from year to year Those miseries which crush and blight
Young hope, no murmurs shalt Thou hear From me, for I will utter none; No—then as now—" Thy will be done!”
“Give us this day our daily bread!”
That thus our hearts be always free From sordid cares: and so be led
To think more on Thy works and Thee. Lord! keep our souls fed constantly
With Faith, and Hope, and Charity.
Convenient to Petticoat Lane there is a place,
We got loose from this spot, myself and my friend,
I roared with pain,
COME, all my hearty, roving blades,
Some fun you are expecting,
That I am not neglecting;
And how she coaxed poor Paddy, But another one you'll get from me About charming Judy McCarty.
Whack fal la, etc.
At Donnybrook fair I met her,
Along with Michael McCarty,
Then soon I followed after;
She danced it nate and hearty,
Whack fal la, etc.
My friend thought to drag me away by the sleeve,
I asked her would she be my wife,
Or, would she be my darling?
And plaze her night and morning;
I took her from the party,
Whack fal la, etc.
To go home then we did prepare,
We jogged it all the way, sir;
Until the break of day, sir;
Who tied us neat and hearty,
Whack fal la, etc. PETTICOAT LANE.-Continued. The reckoning it came to a hog and a groat, For which the landlord he took the lend of my coat; I started without, still cursing the town, Says he: You have killed C. 100% Arrah, be aisy, sir, I want none of your tricks! But the sergeant and twenty more swore it was plain That I was the bully of Petticoat Lane.
JUDY MCCARTY.-Continued. Twelve months after we were wed,
What do you think she brought, sir? But a pair of twins as like their dad,
As ever soup's like broth, sir.
My song so gay and hearty;
Whack fal la, etc.
DRIMMIN DUBH DHEELISH.
They all swarmed about me, like flies on a cask,
ROCKY ROAD TO DUBLIN.
Oh, I'm but a poor man,
And I had but one cow,
I could not tell how,
And so sleek was her tail,
In the merry month of June, when first from home I started,
I cut a stout black-thorn to banish ghost or goblin;
Sure I frightened all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin.
Returning from mass,
On a morning in May,
Drowning by the way.
Ard my neighbors did call To save my poor drimmin dubh,
She being my ail.
For it is the rocky road, here's the road to Dublin; Here's the rocky road, now fire away to Dublin!
The steam-coach was at hand, the driver said he'd cheap ones,
A pain in my shin bone, it set my heart a-bubbling;
I very quickly ran on the rocky road to Dublin.
Ah, neighbor! was this not
A sorrowful day,
Where my drinmin dubh lay? With a drone and a drizzen,
She bade me adieu. And the answer I made
Was a loud pillalu
Poor drimmin dubh sank,
And I saw her no more, Till I came to an island
Was close by the shore; And down on that island
I saw her again, Like a bunch of ripe blackberries
Rolled in the rain.
In Mullingar, that night, I rested limbs so weary,
At my comical style, set my heart a-bubbling,
Until I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin.
No bundle could I find upon my stick a-wobbling.
It wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin. A coachman raised his hand as if myself was wanting, I went up to a stand, full of cars for jaunting;
Step up, my boy!” says he; "Ah, ah! that I will with pleasure,” " And to the strawberry beds, I'll drive you at your leisure.” A strawberry bed?" says I, “ faith, that would be too high!
On one of straw I'll lie, and the berries won't be troubling; He drove me out as far, upon an outside car,
Faith! such jolting never wor on the rocky road to Dublin.
Arrah, plague take you, drimmin dubh!
What made you die,
For what and for why?
My bouchalleen bawn,
Now that you are gone.
When drimmin dubh lived,
And before she was dead,
To eat to my bread,
That I soaked with my scone, But now it's black water
Since drimmin dubh's gone.
ROCKY ROAD TO DUBLIN.--Continued. I soon got out of that, my spirits never failing, I landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailing. The captain at me roared, swore that no room had he, But when I leaped on board, they a cabin found for Paddy. Down among the pigs I played such rummy rigs,
Danced some hearty jigs, with water round me bubbling, But when off Holyhead, I wished that I was dead,
Or safely put in bed, on the rocky road to Dublin.
'Twas at the town of nate Clogheen
That Sergeant Snapp met Paddy Carey; A claner b'y was never seen,
Brisk as a bee, light as a fairy; His brawny shoulders, four feet square,
His checks like thumping red potatoes; His legs would make a chairman stare,
And Pat was loved by all the ladies; Old and young, grave and sad,
Deaf and dumb, dull or mad; Waddling, twaddling, limping, squinting,
Light, brisk and airy.
The boys in Liverpool, when on the dock I landed,
Some Galway boys were by, they saw I was a hobble in; 'Then with a loud hurrah! they joined me in the fray.
Faugh-a-ballagh! clear the way for the rocky road to Dublin.
ONE POUND TWO.
Maggie dear, I come to hear that you've been on a spree,
Oh! Johnny dear, I have it here, penned down in black and white, Come, count it now right after me and you will say I'm right; You've been told that I've been on a spree, but you'll find it is not
true, For, I will let you know how I laid out your one pound two.
All the sweet faces at Limerick races,
From Nullinavelt to Magherafeit,
The sowl would cry and look so shy.
Curly-headed Paddy Carey?
Nate little, tight little Paddy Carey ?
Yet soft as streams from sweet Killarney; His tongue was tipped with a bit of the
brogue, But the deuce a bit at all of the blarney. Now Sergeant Snapp, so sly and Keen--While Pat
coaxing duck-legged Mary-A shilling slipped so nate and clane,
By the powers! he listed Paddy Carey ; Tight and sound, strong and light,
Cheeks so round, eyes so bright: Whistling, humming, drinking, drumming,
Light, tight, and airy.-CHORUS.
In the first place, there's one shilling paid for two stone of meal,
For two hundred weight of coal three shillings I did pay, Fourpenny loaf each morning, and two on the Sabbath day; And every morning for the child-it's a baby son, it's true, That's seven and eleven pence out of your one pound two.
Far away from Erin's strand, and valleys wide and sounding
waters, Still she is, in every land, one of Erin's real daughters; Oh, to meet her here is like a dream of home and natal mountains, On our hearts their voices strike, we hear the gushing of their
fountains Yes! our Irish Mary dear! our own, our real Irish Mary! A flower of home, fresh blooming come, art thou to us, our Irish
Round about us here we see bright eyes like hers, and sunny faces Charming all! if all were free of foreign airs, of borrowed graces. Mary's eye it flashes truth! and Mary's spirit, Mary's nature, Irish lady, fresh in youth, have beam'd o'er every look and feature, Yes! our Irish Mary dear, when La Tournure doth make us weary, We have you to turn unto for native grace, our Irish Mary.
PIT O'HARA.-Continued. And on a pattern day my heart is light and
gay, I frisk across the green sod light and
gaily; I am always up to fun, but was never
known to run, For that would be disgrace to my shilla
lah. If a colleen, too, you see that's looking after
me, And faix, her name is Kitty McNamara; With two eyes as black as sioes, that wher
ever I may go, They are always chasing after Pat
O'Hara.-CHORUS. I love the emerald sod where in childhood
first I trod, With its hills and valleys clothed in
shamrock green; And its colleens sweet and fair, few with
them can compare, For their equal's mighty seldom to be
seen, sure. Tho' the times have changed this while in
dear ould Erin's isle, And many have had to wander near and
far, oh; Arrah! just keep up your heart, you'll find
that the better part, 'Tis the style that always pleases Pat O'Hara.- CHORUS.
CORPORAL CASEY. WHEN I was at home I was merry and
frisky, My dad kept a pig, and my mother sold
whisky; My uncle was rich, but would never be aisy, Till I was enlisted by Corporal Casey.
Sighs of home! her Erin's songs o'er all their songs we love to
listen; Tears of home! her Erin's wrongs subdue our kindred eyes to
glisten. Oh! should woe to gloom consign the clear fireside of love and
honor, You will see a holier sign of Irish Mary bright upon her! Yes, our Irish Mary dear, will light that home, though e'er so
dreary, Shining still o'er clouds of ill, sweet star of life, our Irish Mary!
THE MEN OF TIPPERARY.
LET Britain boast her British hosts, about them all right little
care we; Not British seas nor British coasts can match the man of Tip
Tall is his form, his heart is warm, his spirit light as any fairy. His wrath is fearful as the storm that sweeps the hills of Tip
Lead him to fight for native land, his is no courage cold and wary, The troops live not on earth would stand the headlong charge of
Yet meet him in his cabin rude, or dancing with his dark-haired
Mary, You'd swear they knew no other mood but mirth and love in
Casey! My dear little Shelah I thought would run
crazy When I trudged away with tough Corporal
Casey. I marched from Kilkenny, and as I was
thinking On Shelah, my heart in my bosom was
sinking; But soon I was forced to look fresh as a
daisy, For fear of a drubbing from Corporal Casey. Och! rub a dub, row de row, Corporal
Casey! The devil go with him! I ne'er could be
lazy, He stuck in my skirts so, old Corporal
Casey. We went into battle, I took the blows fairly, That fell on my pate, but they bothered me
rarely; And who should the first be that dropt?
why, so please ye, It was my good friend, honest Corporal
Casey. Och! rub a dub, row de row, Corporal
Casey ! Thinks I, you are quiet, and I shall be aisy, So eight years I fought without Corporal