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DONNELLY AND COOPER.

Come all you true-bred Irishmen, I hope you will draw near,
And likewise pay attention to those few lines you hear;
It's of as true a story as ever you did hear,
It's about Donnelly and Cooper, that foughi all on Kildare.

'Twas on the 3d of June, brave boys, this challenge sent o'er
From Britannia to old Grauna to renew her sons once more;
To renew her satisfaction, and her credit to recall,
For they're all in deep distraction since Donnelly conquered all.

Old Grauna read the challenge received and she smiled,
Saying: "You'd better hasten to Kildare, my well-beloved child,
There you will reign victorious, which you often did before,
And your deeds will shine so gloriously around old Erin's shore.”

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The challenge was accepted, these heroes did prepare
To meet brave Captain Kelly on the Curragh of Kildare;
When these two bully champions were stripped off in the ring,
They both were still determined on each other's blood to spill.

From 6 to 9 parried their time, till Donnelly knocked him down, Old Grauna smiled: “Well done, my child, that is ten thousand

pound!” The second round that Cooper fought he knocked down Donnelly, Likewise true game was Donnelly, he rose most furiouely.

THE ROSE OF KENMARE-Continued.

Oh, where
Can her like be found ?

Nowhere,
The country round,
Spins at her wheel

Daughter as true,
Sets in the reel,

Wid a slide of the shoe,

A slinderer,
Tinderer,
Purtier,
Wittier
Colleen than you,

Rose, aroo !
Her hair mocks the sunshine,

And the soft silver moonshine
Her white

and bosom completely eclipse; Whilst the nose of the jewel

Slants straight as Carn Tual From the heaven in her eye to her heather

sweet lips.

Oh, where, etc.
Did your eyes ever follow

The wings of the swallow,
Here and there, light as air, o'er the

meadow-field glance?
For, if not, you've no notion

Of the exquisite motion
Of her sweet little feet as they dart in the

dance,

Oh, where, etc.
If y' inquire why the nightingale.

Still shuns the invitin' gale
That waits every song-bird but her to the

West,
Faix, she knows, I suppose,

Ould Kenmare has a rose
That would sing any Bulbul to sleep in her

nest.

Oh, where, etc.
When her voice gives the warnin'

For the milkin' in the mornin',
Ev'n the cow known for hornin' comes

runnin' to her pail;
The lambs play about her

And the small bonneens snout her, Whilst their parints salute her wid a twisht

of the tail.

Oh, where, etc.
When at noon from our labor

We draw neighbor wid neighbor
From the heat of the sun to the shilter of

the tree,
Wid spuds fresh from the bilin'

And new milk you come smilin',
All the boys' hearts beguilin', Alanna

machree!

Oh, where, etc.
But there's one sweeter hour,

When the hot day is o’er,
And we rest at the door wid the bright

moon above,
And she sittin' in the middle,

When she's guessed Larry's riddle, Cries, “ Now for your fiddle, my love, my

love."

Oh, where, etc.

Right active then was Cooper, he knocked Donnelly down again; Those Englishmen then gave three cheers, saying: “The battle's

all in vain." Long life to brave Miss Kelly, she's recorded on the plain, She boldly stepped into the ring, saying: “Dan, my boy, what do

you mane? My Irish boy,” said she, “my whole estate I've bet on you, brave

Donnelly."

Donnelly rose again, and meeting with great might,
And to stagnate those nobles all, continued to his fight:
Cooper stood in his own defense, exertion proved in vain,
He soon received a temple blow that knocked him on the plain.

Now, you sons of proud Britannia, your boasting now recall,
Since Cooper now by Donnelly he met a sad downfall;
Out of eleven rounds, gave nine knock-downs and broke his jaw-

bone; “Shake hands,” said she, “brave Donnelly, the battle's all our

own.”

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O'DONNELL, THE AVENGER.

COME all true sons of rin's isle, and listen unto me,
I'm sure, when you have heard my song, with me you will agree;
To condemn those English juries who, with faces grim and bold,
Do send poor innocent Irishmen to dungeons dark ard cold.
Of that great crime in Phenix Park, no doubt you all have heard,
At the trial of the prisoners, you all know what occurred;
James Carey turned informer, and those precious lives he soll,
And sent them to their dreadful doom for a bit of English gold.

To escape a speedy vengeance, James Carey had to roam,
And with his ruined family he left his native home;
And thought to seek seclusion in lands quite far away,
So he sailed on the Melrose Castle for the shores of Africa.
On the 29th day of July, as the ship was nearing shore,
Some passengers near the forecastle heard a terrible uproar;
They rushed toward the cabin, but ere they reached the spot,
The base informer Carey had received a fatal shot.

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Although he's dead and laid to rest, all honored be his name,
Let no one look upon his act with contempt or disdain;
His impulse was but human, that no one will deny,
And I hope he'll be forgiven by the Infinite One on high.
If every son of Erin's isle had such a heart as he,
Soon would they set their native land once more at liberty ;
Unfurl their flag unto the breeze, their rights they would redeem,
If unity and friendship in their land did reign supreme.

And when we left our cabins, boys,

We left with right good will, To see our friends and neighbors

That were at Vinegar Hiil.
A young man from our ranks,

A cannon he let go;
He slapped it into Lord Mountjoy--
A tyrant he laid low.
We are the boys of Wexford,

We fought with heart and hand
To burst in twain the galling chain,

And free our native land.

O'DONOVAN'S DAUGHTER.

One midsummer's eve, when the Bel-fires were lighted,
And the bag-piper's tone call’d the maidens delighted,
I joined a gay group by the Araglin's water,
And danced till the dawn with O'Donovan's daughter.

We bravely fought and conquered

At Ross and Wexford town; And, if we failed to keep them,

'Twas drink that brought us down. We had no drink beside us

On Tubber'neering's day,
Depending on the long bright pike,
And well it worked its way!
We are the boys of Wexford.

We fought with heart and hand
To burst in twain the galling chain,

And free our native land.

Ilave you seen the ripe monadan glisten in Kerry?
Have you mark'd on the Galteys the black whortleberry?
Or ceanaban wave by the wells of Blackwater?
They're the cheek, eye and neck of O'Donovan's daughter!

Have you seen a gay kidling on Claragh's round mountain?
The swan's arching glory on Sheeling's blue fountain?
Heard a weird woman chant what the fairy choir taught her ?
They've the step, grace, and tone of O'Donovan's daughter!

Have you mark'd in its flight the black wing of the raven?
The rose-buds that breathe in the summer-breeze waven?
The pearls that lie hid under Lene's magic water?
They're the teeth, lip, and hair of O'Donovan's daughter!

They came into the country

Our blood to waste and spill; But let them weep for Wexford,

And think of Oulart Hill!
'Twas drink that still betrayed us-

Of them we had no fear;
For every man could do his part
Like Forth and Shelmalier!
We are the boys of Wexford,

We fought with heart and hand
To burst in twain the galling chain,

And free our native land.

Ere the Bel-fire was dimm'd, or the dancers departed,
I taught her a song of some maid broken-hearted;
And that group, and that dance, and that love-song I taught her,
Haunt my slumbers at night with O'Donovan's daughter!

God grant 'tis no fay from Cnoc-Firinn that woors me, God grant 'tis not Cliodhna the queen that pursues me, That my soul lost and lone has no witchery wrought her, While I dream of dark groves and O'Donovan's daughter!

My curse upon all drinking,

It made our hearts full sore; For bravery won each battle,

But drink lost ever more;
And if, for want of leaders,

We lost at Vinegar Hill,
We're ready for another fight,
And love our country still!
We are the boys of Wexford

We fought with heart and hand
To burst in twain the galling chain,

And free our native land.

If, spellbound, I pine with an airy disorder,
Saint Gobnate has sway over Musgry's wide border;
She'll scare from my couch, when with prayer I've besought her,
That bright airy sprite like O'Donovan's daughter.

THE COW THAT ATE THE PIPER.

MO CRAOIBHIN CNO.*

In the year '98, when our troubles were great,

And it was treason to be a Milesian, That black-whiskered set we will never forget,

Though history tells us they were Hessian.
In this troublesome time, oh! 'twas a great crime,

And murder never was riper,
At the side of Gienshee, not an acre from me,

There lived one Denny Byrne, a piper.

My heart is far from Lifley's tide

And Dublin town;
It stays beyond the Southern side

Of Cnoc-Maol Donn, t
Where Cappoquin I hath woodlands green,

Where Amhan-Mhor's & waters flow, Where dwells unsung, unsought, unseen,

Mo craoibhin cno,
Low clustering in her leafy screen,

Mo craoibhin cno!

The high-bred dames of Dublin town

Are rich and fair,
With wavy plume, and silken gown,

And stately air;
Can plumes compare thy dark brown hair?

Can silks thy neck of snow?
Or measur'd pace, thine artless grace,

Mo craoibhin cno,
When harebells scarcely show thy trace,

Mo craoibhin cno?

I've heard the songs by Liffey's wave

The maidens sung-
They sung their land the Saxon's slave,

In Saxon tongue-
Oh! bring me here that Gaelic dear

Which cursed the Saxon foe,
When thou didst charm my raptured ear,

Ho craoibhin cno!
And none but God's good angels near,

Mo craoibhin cno!

Neither wedding or wake would be worth a shake,

Where Denny was not tirst invited,
At squeezing the bags and emptying the kegs,

He astonished as well as delighted.
In these times poor Denny could not earn one penny,

Martial law had him stung like a viper ;
They kept him within till the bones and the skin

Were grinning thro’ the rage of the piper.
One evening in June, as he was going home,

After the fair of Rathnagan,
What should he see from the branch of a tree,

But the corpse of a Hessian there hanging.
Says Denny: "Those rogues have boots, I've brogues,”

On the boots then he laid such a griper,
He pulled with such might, and the boots were so tight,

That legs and boots came away with the piper.
Then Denny did run, for fear of being hung,

Till he came to Tim Kennedy's cabin;
Says Tim from within: “I can't let you in,

You'll be shot if you're caught there a-rapping."
He went to the shed, where the cow was in bed,

With a wisp he began to wipe her;
They lay down together on a seven-foot feather;

And the cow fell a-hugging the piper.
Then Denny did yawn, as the day it did dawn,

And he streeld off the boots of the Hessian;
The legs—by the law, he left on the straw

And he gave them leg-bail for his mission.
When the breakfast was done, Tim sent out his son,

To make Denny jump up like a lamplighter;
When the legs there he saw, he roar'd like a jackdaw,

"Oh, daddy! the cow's ate the piper !
“ Musha bad luck on the beast--she'd a musical taste,

For to eat such a beautiful chanter;
Arrah! Patrick avic, take a lump of a stick,

Drive her off to Glenhealy--we'll cant her.”
Mrs. Kennedy bawl’d, and the neighbors were calid,

They began for to humbug and give her;
To the churchyard Tim walked, with the legs in a box,

And the cow will be hung for the piper.
The cow she was drove a mile or two off,

To the fair at the side of Glenhealy,
And there she was sold for four guineas in gold,

To clerk of the parish, Tim Daly.
They went to a tent, the luck-penny was spent,

The clerk being a jolly old swiper,
Who d'ye think was there, playing the “Rakes of Kildare,”

But poor Denny Byrne, the piper!
Then Tim gave a bolt, like a half-drunken colt,

At the piper he gazed like a gommack,
He said: By the powers! I thought these eight hours

You were playing in driman dhu's stomach!"
Then Denny observed how the Hessian was served,

And they all wish'd Nick's cure to the griper; For grandeur they met, their whistles they wet,

And like fairies they danced round the piper.

I've wandered by the rolling Lee!

And Lene's green bowers-
I've seen the Shannon's wide-spread sea,

And Limerick's towers
And Liffey's tide, where hills of pride

Frown o'er the fiood below;
My wild heart strays to Amhan-Mhor's

side,

No craoibhin cno!
With love and thee for aye to hide,

Mo craoibhin cno!

* Mo croaibhin ono literally means my cluster of nuts : but it figuratively signifies my nut brown maid. It is pronounced Na Creevin Kino

+ Cnoc-maol- Donn--The Broun bare hill A lofty mountain between the county of Tipperary and that of Waterford, commanding a glorious prospect of unrivaled scenery.

# Cappoquin. A romantically situated town on the Blackwater, in the country of Waterford. The Irish name denotes the The Head of the Tribe of Cown,

Amhan-Mhor--The Great River. The Packwater, which flows into the sea at Youghal, The Irish name is uttered in two sounds, Oan Vore.

FATHER O'FLYNN.

OF priests we can offer a charmin’ variety,
Far renowned for larnin' and piety;
Still, I'd advance ye, widout impropriety,
Father O'Flynn as the flower of them all.

Here's a health to you, Father O'Flynn,
Slainté, and slainté, and s'ainté agin;

Powerfulest preacher, and

Tinderest teacher, and Kindliest creature in ould Donegal.

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They shook hands and walked around the ring, commencing then

to fight, It filled each Irish heart with pride for to behold the sight. The Russian he floored Morrisey up to the eleventh round, With Yankee, Russian, and Saxon cheers the valley did resound.

The Irish offered four to one that day upon the grass,
No sooner said than taken up, and down they brought the cash.
They parried away without delay to the thirty-second round,
When Morrisey received a blow that brought him to the ground.

By the clear lakes of Killarney

Walked a youth one fine summer morn, Who softly was whispering blarney

To one whom he called Colleen Bawn; He promised her jewels so rare,

He promised her gold in galore, And said that a maiden so fair

Deserved all she wished for and inore, Then beamed on the sweet face of Eily

A smile like the first flush of dawn, And she said, while glancing so slyly:

You'll marry your own Colleen Bawn;

You'll marry your own Colleen Bawn. He spoke of his family's pride-

She told him at once to be gone, And said: Sir, unless as a bride,

In vain you will seek Colleen Bawn. The wild flowers that grow by the lake

Are jewels sufficient for me.
And all the gold from you I'd take,

In a plain, simple ring it must be. Then bright grew the sweet face of Eily,

For he promised the very next morn To speak to the priest, Father Riley,

And marry his dear Colleen Bawn;
And marry his dear Colleen Bawn.

Up to the thirty-seventh round 'twas fall and fall about, Which made the foreign tyrants to keep a sharp lookout; The Russian called his second for to have a glass of wine, Our Irish hero smiled and said: “This battle will be mine."

The thirty-eighth decided all, the Russian felt the smart-
Morrisey with a dreadful blow struck the Russian on the heart;
The doctor he was called upon to open up a vein,
He said it was quite useless, he would never fight again.

Our hero conquered Thompson, the Yankee Clipper, too,
The Benicia Boy, and Sheppard he nobly did subdue;
So let us fill a flowing glass, and here is health galore
To noble Johnny Morrisey and Paddies evermore.

CAOCH THE PIPER.

ONE winter's day, long-long ago,

When I was a little fellow,
A piper wandered to our door,

Gray-headed, blind, and yellow-:
And oh, how glad was my young heart,

Though earth and sky looked dreary-
To see the stranger and his dog-

Poor “ Pinch ” and Caoch O'Leary.

see"

THE MAID OF SWEET GORTEEN.
COME all you gentle Muses, combine and lend an ear,
While I set forth the praises of a charming maiden fair;
It's the curling of her yellow locks that stole away my heart,
And death, I'm sure, must be the cure if she and I must part.
The praises of this lovely maid I mean for to unfold,
Her hair hangs o'er her shoulders like lovely links of gold;
her carriage neat, her limbs complete, which fractured quite my

brain,
Her skin is whiter than the swan that swims on the purling

stream.
Her eyes are like the diamonds bright that shine in crystal stream,
So modest and so tender, she's fit to be a queen;
Many pleasant hours I spent in the garden field,
In hopes to get another sight of the maid of sweet Gorteen.
It was my cruel father that caused my grief and woe,
He locked her in a room and would not let her go;
Her windows I have daily watched, thinking she might be seen,
In hopes to get another sight of the maid of sweet Gorteen.
My father arose one day and thus to me did say:
O, my dear son, be advised by me, don't throw yourself away,
To marry a poor servant girl whose parents are so mean,
So stay at home and do not roam, but always with me remain.
0, father, dearest father, don't part me from my dear,
I would not lose my darling for 1,000 pounds a year;
Was I possessed of England's crown I would make her my queen,
In high renown I'd wear the crown with the maid of sweet Gor-

teen
My father in a passion flew and thus to me did say:
Since it's the case within this place no longer she shall stay,
Mark what I say, from this very day you never shall see her face,
For I will send her far away unto some lonesome place.
"Twas a few days after a horse he did prepare,
And sent my darling far away to a place I know not where;
I may go view my darling's room, where ofttimes she has been,
Thinking to get another sight of the maid of sweet Gorteen.
Now to conclude and make an end I take my pen in hand,
John O'Brien is my name, and flowery is my land,
My days are spent in merriment since my darling I first seen,
But her abode is on a road at a place called sweet Gorteen.

THE POOR MAN'S LABOR'S NEVER DONE.
I MARRIED a wife for to sit by me, which makes me sorely to

repent;
Matches, they say, are made in heaven, but mine was for a penance

sent. I soon became a servant to her, to milk the cows and black her

shoon; For women's ways, they must have pleasure, and the poor man's

labor's never done. The very first year that we were married, she gave to me a pretty

babe: She sat me down to rock its cradle, and give it cordial when it

waked: If it cried, she would bitterly scould me, and if it bawled, away I

should run; For women's ways, they must have pleasure, and the poor man's

labor's never done.

And when he stowed away his " bag,”

Cross-barred with green and yellow,
I thought and said: In Ireland's ground

There's not so fine a fellow.”
And Fineen Burk and Shane Magee,

And Eily, Kate, and Mary,
Rushed in, with frantic haste to “

And welcome” Caoch O'Leary.
Oh, God be with those happy times,

Oh, God be with my chiidhood,
And often when I walked and danced

With Eily, Kate, and Mary,
We spoke of childhood's rosy hours,

And prayed for Caoch O'Leary.
Well-twenty summers had gone past,

And June's red sun was sinking,
When I, a man, sat by my door,

Of twenty sad things thinking.
A little dog came up the way,

His gait was slow and weary,
And at his tail a lame man limped—
'Twas Pinch"

and Caoch O'Leary. Old Caoch! but oh! how woe-begone!

His form is bowed and bending,
His fleshless hands are stiff and wan,

Ay-Time is even blending.
The colors on his threadbare “bag ”—

And “ Pinch " is twice as hairy,
And “
" thin-spare

as when first I saw
Himself and Caoch O'Leary.
God's blessing here," the wanderer cried,

“ Far-far be hell's black viper;
Does anybody hereabouts

Remember Caoch the Piper ?”
With swelling heart I grasped his hand;

The old man murmured: “Deary!
When I, bare headed, roamed all day

Bird-nesting in the wild-wood
I'll not forget those sunny hours,

However years may vary;
I'll not forget my early friends,

Nor honest Caoch O Leary.
Poor Caoch and “ Pinch” slept well that

night,
And in the morning early
He called me up to hear him play

“ The wind that shakes the barley."
And then he stroked my flaxen hair,

And cried: “God mark my deary.”
And how he wept when he said: “ Farewell,

And think of Caoch O'Leary.”
And seasons came and went, and still

Old Caoch was not forgotten,
Although I thought him “dead and gone,"

And in the cold clay rotten,
“ Are you the silky hraded child

That loved poor Caoch O'Leary?”

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So all ye young men that are inclined to marry, be sure and

marry a loving wife, And do not marry my wife's sister, or she will plague you all your

life; Do not marry her mother's daughter, or she will grieve your heart

full sore; But take from me my wife, and welcome-and then my care and

trouble is o'er.

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