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I'M NOT MYSELF AT ALL.

ELLEN BAWN.

ELLEN BAwNoh, Ellen Bawn, you darling-darling dear, you,
Sit a while beside me here, I'll die unless I'm near you!
'Tis for you I'd swim the Suir and breast the Shannon's waters;
For, Ellen dear, you've not your peer in Galway's blooming

daughters!

On, I'm not myself at all,

Molly dear, Molly dear,
I'm not myself at all.

Nothin' carin', nothin' knowin',
"Tis aither you I'm goin',
Faith, your shadow 'tis I'm growin',

Molly dear,
And I'm not myself at all!
Th' other day I went confessin',
And I ask'd the father's blessin';
But,” says I, “ don't give me one intirely,
For I fretted so last year

But the half o' me is here, So give the other half to Molly Brierly.'

Oh! I'm not myself at all!

Had I Limerick's gems and gold at will to mete and measure, Were Loughhrea's abundance mine, and all Portumna's treasure, These might lure me, might insure me many and many a new love, But oh! no bribe could pay your tribe for one like you, my true

love!

Blessings be on Connaught! that's the place for sport and raking!
Blessings, too, my love, on you, a-sleeping and a-waking!
I'd have met you, dearest Ellen, when the sun went under,
But, woe! the flooding Shannon broke across my path in thunder.

Ellen! I'd give all the deer in Limerick's parks and arbors,
Ay, and all the ships that rode last year in Munster's harbors,
Could I blot from Time the hour I first became your lover,
For, oh! you've given my heart a wound it never can recover!
Would to God that in the sod my corpse to-night were lying,
And the wild birds wheeling o'er it, and the winds a-sighing,
Since your cruel mother and your kindred chose to sever
Two hearts that love would blend in one forever and forever!

Oh, I'm not myself at all,

Molly dear, Molly dear,
My appetite's so small-

I once could pick a goose;
But my buttons is no use,
Faith, my tightest coat is loose,

Molly dear,
And I'm not myself at all!
If thus it is I waste,

You'd betther, dear, make haste, Before your lover's gone away intirely;

If you don't soon change your mind,

Not a bit of me you'll find-
And what 'ud you think' o' that, Molly

Brierly ?-
Oh, I'm not myself at all!

BOLD JACK DONAHOE.

COME all you valiant highwaymen and outlaws of disdain,
Who've cause to live in slavery and wear the band and chain;
Attention pay to what I say and rally if you do,
While I relate the history of bold Jack Donahoe.

This bold, undaunted highwayman, as you understand he was,
Banished from his native land, for his natural life;
In Dublin city of renown, where his first breath he drew,
The deeds of honor title him brave, valiant Donahoe.

Oh, my shadow on the wall,

Molly dear, Molly dear,
Isn't like myself at all.

For I've got so very thin,
Myself says 'tisn't him,
But that purty girl so slim,

Molly dear,
And I'm not myself at all!
If thus I smaller grew,

All fretting, dear, for you, 'Tis you should make me up the deficiency;

So just let Father Taaff

Make you my betther half, And you will not the worse for the addition

be Oh, I'm not myself at all!

Young Donahoe was taken in the middle of his prime,
And was sentenced to be hanged for that out-daring crime;
The police and constables him they did pursue,
And before they arrived in Sydney safe, they lost bold Donahone.
When he effected his escape he took to the highway,
Where tyrants dare not walk the road by night or by day,
Every morning in the newspapers there is something published

new,
Concerning of that hero bold, they call Jack Donahoe.
He had not been twelve months on the Australian shore,
Till he turned out on the highway as many done before:
There was McNamara, Andrew Ward, Welch and Walmesley, too
Those were the bold associates of brave Jack Donahoe.

As Donahoe and his companions walked out one afternoon, Not thinking that pains of death it should effect so soon; The horse police they did advance all horrors to subdue, And in quick time they did advance to take Jack Donahoe.

I'll be not myself at all,

Molly dear, Molly dear,
Till you my own I call!

Since a change o'er me there came
Sure you might change your name-
And twould just come to the same,

Molly dear,
"Twould just come to the same;
For if you and I were one,

All confusion would be gone, And ’twould simplify the matther intirely;

And 'twould save us so much bother,

When we'd both be one another-
So listen now to rayson, Molly Brierly;

Oh, I'm not myself at all!

He said to his companions, If you prove true to me,
This day we'll fight with all our might and gain our liberty;
Said Ward and Webber, We will not fight, our comrades are so

few,
Begone from me, you cowardly dogs, cried bold Jack Donahoe.
If you would prove true to me, I would record your name,
The people they will look on you with scorn and with shame-
For to hang on the gallows tree I do not intend to do,
So this day I'll fight with all my might, cried bold Jack Donahoe.

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LAMENTATION OF JAMES RODGERS.

Come all you tender Christians, I hope you will draw near,
And likewise pay attention to those few lines I have here;
For the murder of Mr. Swanton I am condemned to die
On the twelfth day of November, upon the gallows high.

My name is James Rodgers—the same I never denied,
Which leaves my aged parents in sorrow for to cry;
It's little they ever thought, all in my youth and bloom,
I came into New York to meet my fatal doom.

My parents reared me tenderly, as you can plainly see,
And constantly good advice they used to give to me;
They told me to shun night-walking and all bad company,
Or State's prison or the scaffold would be the doom for me.

In bad houses and liquor I used to take delight,
And constantly my companions they used me there invite;
They all persuaded ine the use of knives were free,
I might commit a murder, and hanged I would not be.

Upon the fatal night, as you may plainly see,
My companions advised me to go and have a spree;
My passion got the best of me, as you may plainly know,
I drew the fatal knife, and it proved my overthrow.

Mr. Swanton and his wife were passing through the street,
And in my drunken passion I chanced them for to meet;
They surely did not injure me—the same I'll ne'er deny,
But Satan being so near to me, I could not pass them by.

THE POACHER.--Continued. “No rasher will I cook for you,

While betther is to spare, sir, But here's a jug of mountain dew,

And there's a rattlin' hare, sir.” St. Pathrick he looked mighty sweet,

And, says he, “ Good luck attind you, And. when you're in your windin' sheet,

It's up to heaven I'll sind you.” O'Ryan gave his pipe a whiff-

• i hem tidin's is thransportin’; B't may I ax your saintship if

There's any kind of sportin'?”.
St. Patrick said, “A lion's there,

Two bears, a bull, and cancer"-
Bedad,” says Mick," the huntin's rare;

St. Fatrick, I'm your man, sir.”
So, to conclude my song aright,

For fear I'd tire your patience,
You'll see O'Ryan any night

Amid the constellations.
And Venus follows in his track,

Till Mars grows jealous raally,
But, faith, he fears the Irish knack
Of handling the shillaly.

THE BELLS OF SHANDON. WITH deep affection and recollection

I often think of those Shandon bells, Whose sound so wild would, in days of child.

hood,
Fling round my cradle their magic spells.
On this I ponder, where'er I wander,
And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of

thee;
With thy bells of Shandon,

That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters of the river Lee.
I've heard bells chiming full many a clime

in, Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine; While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate,

[thine; But all their music spoke nought like For memory dwelling on each prond swelling Of thy belfry knelling its bold notes free,

Made the bells of Shandon,

Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters of the river Lee. I've heard bells tolling “oid Adrian's Mole”

in, Their thunder rolling from the Vatican, And cymbals glorious, swinging uproarious

In the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame: But thy sounds were sweeter, than the dome

of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, pealing solemnly.

0! the bells of Shandon,

Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters of the river Lee. There's a bell in Moscow, while on tower

and kiosko In St. Sophio the Turkman gets, And loud in air, calls men to prayer From the tapering summit of tall min

arets. Such empty phantom, I freely grant them; But there's an anthem more dear to me,

'Tis the bells of Shandon,

That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters of the river Lee.

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“ Now God be with you all!” he sighed,

Adown his face the bright tears tiowing-“God guard you well, avic,” they cried,

“ Upon the strange path you are going.” So full his breast, he scarce could speak, With burning grasp the stretched hands

taking, He pre=sed a kiss on every cheek,

And cobbed as if his heart was breaking.

ERIN'S LOVELY HOME.

WHEN I was young and in my prime, my age just twenty-one,
I acted as a servant unto a gentleman;
I served him true and honest, and very well, it's known,
But in cruelty he banished me from Erin's lovely home.
For what he did banish me I mean to let you hear:
I own I loved his daughter, and she loved me as dear.
She had a large fortune, and riches I had none,
We'll bid adieu to all our friends in Erin's lovely home.”

“ Boys, don't forget me when I'm gone,

For sake of all the days passed over, The days you spent on heath and bawn,

With Donal Ruadh, the rattlin' rover. Mary, agra, your soft brown eye Has willed my fate” (he whispered low

ly); “ Another holds thy heart; good-by! Heaven grant you both its blessings

holy!”

'Twas in her father's garden, all in the month of June,
We were viewing of those flowers all in their youthful bloom;
She said: “My dearest William, if with me you will roam,
We'll bid adieu to all our friends in Erin's lovely home.

I gave consent that very night along with her to roam
From her father's dwelling-it proved my overthrow;
The night was bright; by the moonlight we both set off alone,
Thinking to get safe away from Erin's lovely home.

A kiss upon her brow of snow,

A rush across the moonlit meadow, Whose brown-clad hazels, trembling slow,

The mossy boreen wrapped in shadow; Away o'er Tully's bounding rill,

And far beyond the Inny river; One cheer on Carrick's rocky hill,

And Donal Kenny's gone forever.

When we came to Belfast, by the break of day,
My love, she then got ready our passage for to pay;
Five thousand pounds she counted down, saying: “ This shall be

your own, But do not mourn for those we've left in Erin's lovely home.”

'Tis of our sad misfortune I mean to let you hear, 'Twas in a few hours after, her father did appear, He marched me back to Homer jail in the county of Tyrone, And there I was transported from Erin's lovely home.

When I heard my sentence, it grieved my heart full sore,
But parting from my true love it grieved me ten times more.
I had seven links upon my chain, for every link a year,
Before I can return again to the arms of my dear.

The breezes whistled through the sails

O'er Galıpay Bay the ship was heaving, And smothered groans and bursting walls

Told all the grief and pain of leaving. One form among that exiled band

Of parting sorrow gave no token, Still was his breath and cold his hand;

For Doral Kenny's heart was broken.

While I lay under sentence, before I sailed away,
My love, she came into the jail, and thus to me did say:

Cheer up your heart, don't be dismayed, for I'll not you disown, Until you do return again to Erin's lovely home."

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