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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

every one.

11

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

stood,
True to his name, his country, and his

God,
Faithful at home, and steadfast still

abroad."

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
'Twould throuble you such a long story to hear,
For you've ten long miles o’er the mountains to go,
While the road I've to travel's much longer you know.
So give us your blessin' and get in the saddle,
To tell all my sins my poor brain it would addle;
And the docther gave ordhers to keep me so quiet-
'Twould disturb me to tell all my sins, if I'd thry it;
And your Reverence has towld us, unless we tell all,
'Tis worse than not makin' confession at all.
So I'll say in a word I'm no very good boy-
And therefore your blessin', sweet Father Molloy.”

KATE KEARNEY.

Oh! did you ne'er hear of Kate Kearney?
She lives on the banks of Killarney;
From the glance of her eye shun danger and

fly,
For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney;
For that eye is so modestly beaming,
You ne'er think of mischief she's dreaming,
Yet, oh! I can tell, how fatal's the spell,

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.

2

“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."

PATER NOSTER.

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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!”

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PETTICOAT LANE.

WHEN to Dublin I came from the sweet County Down,
I called on a friend for to show me the town;
He brought me thro' streets, lanes, and alleys so grand,
Till my brogues were most wore and I scarcely could stand.
He showed me fine houses, were built up so high,
And a man made of stone almost up to the sky,
But the names of them places went out of my brain,
Show him up to the college in Petticoat Lane!

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.

JUDY MCCARTY.

Convenient to Petticoat Lane there is a place,
And as we walked through it we couldn't get peace;
The shops were all full of fine clothes, black and blue,
But the fellows outside nearly tore me in two.
One dragged me this way to get a good frieze,
Another had corduroy breeches my size;
But one chap bawls out, when I wouldn't remain,
Show him up to the college in Petticoat aLne!

We got loose from this spot, myself and my friend,
I couldn't do less than a teaster to spend ;
But we spied boys and girls in a laughable group,
Sitting cross-legged and they licking up soup.
Says I: Are these what you call your poorhouse recruits ?
Ax the divil! says one, and his bowl at me shoots;
They roared with pleasure, while

I roared with pain,
Arrah, Paddy, you're welcome to Petticoat Lane!

COME, all my hearty, roving blades,

Some fun you are expecting,
And I will prove without any noise

That I am not neglecting;
You've heard the song of Biddy McGee,

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,
He handed her into a seat with care,

Then soon I followed after;
I asked her up to dance a jig,

She danced it nate and hearty,
It was then with love I felt quite big
For charming Judy McCarty.

Whack fal la, etc.

My friend thought to drag me away by the sleeve,
When a tartar dropped over my head an old sieve;
I turned for to strike her, but got in the eye
A plaster of what they called hot mutton pie.
I kept groping about, like a man that was blind,
Till I caught hould of somebody coming behind;
I prayed that I might get the strength of a Cain,
To be able to whale him in Petticoat Lane.
I walloped away, and I got walloped, too,
While all sorts of ructions were raised by the crew;
You would swear it was raining brick-bats and stones,
Till I heard my antagonist giving some groans.
Run and be dd to you! some one did cry,
Sure, I can't for the mutton that's stuck in my eye;
I was led through the crowd, and heard somebody saying,
There's a peeler most killed in Petticoat Lane.
These words like a thunderbolt fell on my ear,
So I scooped all the fat from my eye pretty clear;
My friends tould the crowd that was 'round to be mute,
While we slipped to a house, called “ The sign of the boot,"
There I called for a sup, and we both took a seat,
Two or three that had backed us came in for a treat;
When the reckoning was called for, my pockets were clean,
For pounds, shillings, and pence were in Petticoat Lane.

I asked her would she be my wife,

Or, would she be my darling?
The best of husbands I would make,

And plaze her night and morning;
She said she would, and glad she was

I took her from the party,
That night was spent in devilment
Hugging Judy McCarty.

Whack fal la, etc.

To go home then we did prepare,

We jogged it all the way, sir;
We slept together that very night,

Until the break of day, sir;
Next morning to the priest we went,

Who tied us neat and hearty,
That night was spent in devilment
Hugging Judy McCarty.

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.
And now I'll finish my little song,

My song so gay and hearty;
The Irish boys such devils are
For getting the young McCartys.

Whack fal la, etc.

DRIMMIN DUBH DHEELISH.

They all swarmed about me, like flies on a cask,
But to prison to take me was no easy task;
When I got there I was charged with the crime,
'Twas my own brother Darby I bate all the time.
Whin he seen me he let out a thundering curse,
On the day that he first went to join in the force;
He released my ould coat and he got me off clean,
To go home and say prayers for sweet Petticoat Lane.

ROCKY ROAD TO DUBLIN.

Oh, I'm but a poor man,

And I had but one cow,
And when I had lost her

I could not tell how,
But so white was her face,

And so sleek was her tail,
That I thought my poor drimmin dubh
Never would fail.
Agus oro, driminin dubh

Oro, ah.
Oro, drinmin dubh

In the merry month of June, when first from home I started,
And left the girls alone, sad and broken-hearted,
Shook hands with father dear, kissed my darling mother,
Drank a pint of beer, my tears and grief to smother;
Then off to reap the corn, and leave where I was born.

I cut a stout black-thorn to banish ghost or goblin;
With a pair of bran new brogues, I rattled o'er the bogs-

Sure I frightened all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin.

Miel agra.

CHORUS.

Returning from mass,

On a morning in May,
I met my poor drimmin dubh

Drowning by the way.
I roared and I brawled,

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,
But sure the luggage van was too much for my ha’pence,
For England I was bound, it would never do to balk it,
For every step of the road, bedad! says I, I'll walk it.
I did not sigh or moan until I saw Athlone.

A pain in my shin bone, it set my heart a-bubbling;
And fearing the big cannon, looking o'er the Shannon,

I very quickly ran on the rocky road to Dublin.

Ah, neighbor! was this not

A sorrowful day,
When I gazed on the water

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,
Started by daylight, with spirits light and airy;
Took a drop of the pure, to keep my spirits from sinking,
That's always an Irishman's cure, whenever he's troubled with

thinking.
To see the lassies smile, laughing all the while

At my comical style, set my heart a-bubbling,
They axed if I was hired, the wages I required,

Until I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin.
In Dublin next arrived, I thought it was a pity
To be so soon deprived of a view of that fine city;
'Twas then I took a stroll, all among the quality,
My bundle then was stole in a neat locality,
Something crossed my mind, thinks I, I'll look behind.

No bundle could I find upon my stick a-wobbling.
Inquiring for the rogue, they said my Connaught brogue,

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,
Or why did you leave me,

For what and for why?
I would rather lose Paudeen,

My bouchalleen bawn,
Than part with my drimmin dubh,

Now that you are gone.

When drimmin dubh lived,

And before she was dead,
She gave me fresh butter

To eat to my bread,
And likewise new milk

That I soaked with my scone, But now it's black water

Since drimmin dubh's gone.

PADDY CAREY.

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,
Called myself a fool, I could no longer stand it;
My blood began to boil, my temper I was losing,
And poor old Erin's Isle, they all began abusing.
“ Hurrah! my boys," says I, my shillelah I let tly,

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.

CHORUS.

ONE POUND TWO.

Maggie dear, I come to hear that you've been on a spree,
Where is my whole week's wages, I pray come tell to me;
When I come home at night I find no smell of drink on you,
Yet I would like to know how you laid out my one pound two.

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,
At Paddy's beautiful name would melt,

The sowl would cry and look so shy.
Och! Cushlamachree, did you ever sce
The jolly boy, the darling boy, the ladies'

toy,
Nimble-footed, black-eyed, rosy-cheeked,

Curly-headed Paddy Carey?
Oh, sweet Paddy, beautiful Paddy,

Nate little, tight little Paddy Carey ?
His heart was made of Irish oak,

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.

was

In the first place, there's one shilling paid for two stone of meal,
Served four of us around the week-I'm sure it ain't a great deal:
And four stone of potatoes, for you know no less would do,
That's three and twopence halfpenny out of your one pound two.

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.

PAT O'HARA.

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IRISH MARY.

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

Mary!

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

perary.

! ,

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

perary

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

Tipperary.

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

Tipperary.

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

Casey.

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