THE IRISH VOLUNTEER.

YE daughters of old Ireland, these lines to you I write,
Concerning your true lovers, who have volunteered to fight
For their country's standard, to face their rebel peers,
Its pretty dame will see again our Irish volunteers.

The worthy son of liberty, who's got the heart to go
To sustain his country's dignity, and face the rebel foe;
He's worthy of a lady's love, we'll call them our dears,
They're strong and bold, and uncontrolled, our Irish volunteers.

The cymbals are sounding, the trumpet shrill doth blow
For each platoon to form, we've got orders for to go;
Each pretty girl says to her love: My darling, never fear,
You will always find us true and kind to the Irish volunteer.

In the fearful hour of battle, when the cannons loud do roar,
We'll think upon our loves that we left to see no more;
And if grim death appears to us, its terrors and its fears
Can never scare in freedom's war, our Irish volunteers.

Come all ye worthy gentlemen, who have the heart and means,
Be kind unto the soldier's wife, they hold your country's reins;
They will come back victorious, those gallant fusileers,
And bring again the flag unstained, our Irish volunteers.

FATHER MOLLOY.

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."

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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 boyAnd therefore your blessin', sweet Father Molloy."

"Well, I'll read from a book," says Father Molloy,

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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."

"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 is my sentence." 66 Poo!" says Paddy McCabe, "that's a very hard caseWith your Reverence and heaven I'm content to make pace; But with heaven and your Reverence I wondher-Och hone— You 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!

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.

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!

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 d-d 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.

PATER NOSTER.

FATHER of all! who reign'st supreme,
Beyond yon blue, o'er-arching sphere,
As Thy forever glorious name

Is hallow'd there, so be it here;
Grant that our numbered hours may be
So many hymns of praise to Thee!

"Thy kingdom come!" ah, yes, my God!
That hope is sweet, indeed, to those
Who, in this co'd world, feel the rod
Of deep affliction, and the throes
Of pain: blest are they when the tomb
Receives them; oh, Thy kingdom

come!"

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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.

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.

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. 106

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.

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.

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.

CHORUS.

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.

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, 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;

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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.

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.

Oн, 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, drimmin dubh
Oro, ah.

Oro, drimmin dubh
Miel agra.

Returning from mass.

On a morning in May,
I met my poor drimmin dubh
Drowning by the way.

I roared and I brawled,

And my neighbors did call To save my poor drimmin dubh, She being my all.

Ah, neighbor! was this not

A sorrowful day,

When I gazed on the water

Where my drimmin 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.

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.

"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.

CHORUS.

All the sweet faces at Limerick races,
From Nullinavelt to Magherafelt,
At Paddy's beautiful name would melt,
The sowl would cry and look so shy.
Och! Cushlamachree, did you ever see
The jolly boy, the darling boy, the ladies'

tov,

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 keenWhile Pat was 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.