ERIN, MY COUNTRY.

OH, Erin, my country! although thy harp slumbers,

And lies in oblivion in Tara's old hall, With scarce one kind hand to awaken its numbers,

Or sound a lone dirge to the Son of Fingal;

The trophies of warfare may hang there neglected,

For dead are the warriors to whom they were known;

But the harp of old Erin will still be respected,

While there lives but one Bard to enliven its tone.

Oh, Erin, my country! I love thy green bow

ers,

No music's to me like the murmuring rills.

Thy shamrock to me is the fairest of flow.

ers,

And naught is more dear than thy daisyclad hills;

Thy caves, whether used by thy warriors or

sages,

Are still sacred held in each Irishman's heart,

And the ivy-crowned turrets, the pride of past ages,

Though mouldering in ruins, do grandeur impart!

Britannia may vaunt of her lion and armor, And glory when she her old wooden walls views:

Caledonia may boast of her pibroch and claymore,

And pride in her philabeg, kilt, and her hose:

But where is the nation to rival old Erin? Or where is the country such heroes can boast?

In battle they're brave as the tiger or lion, And bold as the eagle that flies 'round our coast!

The breezes oft shake both the rose and the thistle,

While Erin's green shamrock lies hushed in the dale;

In safety it rests, while the stormy winds whistle,

And grows undisturbed 'midst the moss of the vale;

Then, hail! fairest island in Neptune's old ocean!

Thou land of Saint Patrick, my parent agra!

Cold-cold must the heart be, and void of emotion

That loves not the music of "Erin-go

Bragh!"

MISTER FINAGAN.

I'm a dacent laboring youth, I wur born in the town of Dunshocaklin,

I'm a widower now in my youth since I buried swate Molly Mc

Laughlin ;

I wur married but once in my life, shure, I'll never commit such a sin again,

For I found out when she wur my wife, she wur fond of one, Barney McFinagan.

CHORUS.

Whack fil lil lan ta ra le, whack fil lil lan tar a laddy de,

Whack fil lil lan ta ra le, with a ri tol lol lol dil de de de de.

Her father had castles of mud, of which I wur fond of admiring, They wur built in the time of the flood, for to keep her ancestors dry in;

When he found I had Molly bespoke, first he got fat and then he got thin again,

In the struggle his gizzard he broke, and we had a corpse of McFinagan.

For convainiance, the corpse was put along with his friends in the barn shure,

While some came to it on foot, while others came down from Dunagrinshore;

My wife she cried and she sobbed, I chucked her out twice and she got in again.

I gave her a belt in the gob, when I wur knocked down by McFinagan.

The bed and the corpse was upset, the row it commenced in a minute, shure.

Divil a bit of a stick had I got till they broke all the legs of the furniture;

In faith, as the blood flew about, eyes were shoved out and shoved in ag'in,

I got a southwestern clout, which knocked me on top of poor Finagan.

How long I was dead I don't know, but this I know, I wasn't livin', shure.

I awoke wid a pain in my toe, for they were both tied wid a ribben, shure;

I opened my mouth for to spake, the shate was roll'd up to my chin again,

“Och, Molly," says I, “I'm awake;” “Oh,” says she, "you'll be buried wid Finagan."

I opened my eyes for to see-I strove to get up to knock her about

I found that my two toes were tied like a spoon in a pot of thick stirabout,

But I soon got the use of my toes, by a friend of the corpse, Larry Gilligan,

Who helped me get into my clothes, for to spread a grass quilt over Finagan.

Och, my she devil came home from the spree, full of whisky and ripe from the buryin', shure,

And she showed so much mercy to me, as a hungry man shows a red herrin', shure;

One billy-go-fister I gave, which caused her to grunt and to grin again,

In six months I opened the grave, and slapped her on the bones of Finagan.

It's now that I'm single again, I'll spend my time rakin' and batterin',

I'll go to the fair wid the men, and dance wid the girls for a-patterin';

They'll swear that I am stuck to a lee, and as they say to catch him ag'in,

Bet they'll not come the cuckle o'er me, for they might be related to Finagan.

DIGGING FOR GOULD.

DARBY KELLY below in Kilkenny did live,
A sketch of whose character I'm going to give:
He was thought by the people a green polished rogue.
He could wastle the whisky, or wastle the old brogue.
All kinds of diseases with herbs he could cure.

He'd interpret your dreams, to be certain and sure;
By the boys of the village he often was fool'd,
For, aslape or awake, he was dreaming of gould.

He had a fine open house, but the winders were broke,
The gables were down to let out the smoke;

Some beautiful pigs, through the wild world to range,
Though they were thin, they were thick with the mange.
He was so neglectful of domestic affairs.

The rats ate the bottoms all out of his chairs;
And the wife by the husband was so overruled,
When she axed him for coppers he was talking of gould.

The house thus neglected, sure nothing went right;
When a youth of the village came to him one night,
A nice boy he was, his name was Dan Mac,
And ready to fly with the duds on his back.
All the clothes that he had wasn't enough
To make him a bolster to stick on a crutch,
And his juvenile days in a lime kiln were schooled,
But he used to cod Darby about finding gould.

Says Dan: Ere last night I had a beautiful dream,
But bad luck to the doubt! last night I'd the same;
And to-day, as I dozed, after slacking some lime,
I dreamt it again for the third and last time.
Och, murder! says Darby, come tell us your dream,
Same time his two eyes like buckets did gleam;
Says Dan: I dreamt at the castle Killcool,

I found a jar that was crammed full of gould.

Poor Darby's big mouth opened like a dead Haicke,
Saying: You'll be a hero, just like your namesake;
You'll ride in your coach, you fortunate elf,
While I may be in one going down to the hulks.
No matter, said Darby, we must emigrate,
So, come down at midnight, and don't be too late;
Bring some boys whose courage won't easy be cooled,
And we'll dig till daylight to find all the gould.

They arrive at the castle, about one o'clock,
Where Dan dreamt he found all the gould in a crock;
They all set to work with picks, shovels, and spades,
And a hole, that would swallow a house, soon was made.
Says Darby: Bad luck to the curse we must give,
Or we'll be beggars as long as we live!
Says Dan: May the devil on my back be stooled,
For, I have bursted my breeches in digging for gould.
The prayers availed nothing, the crock was soon found,
Tim Rooney he lifted it over the ground;
With joy Darby leaped on the back of Ned Flail,
Like a fish from the stream with a hook in his tail.
Says Darby: My wife won't abuse me to-night,
When I take home the shiners so yellow and bright!
I'll buy house and land about Kilcool,

And we'll all bless the night we went digging for gould!

The crock was then placed on Darby's own back
To carry home, and each man have his whack;
They arrived at the door with the gould to be sacked,
When Mac with a spade knocked the crock into smash.
Poor Darby, near smothered, run in with a fright,
His wife jumps up to get him a light;

When she heard Darby mourning her passion was cooled,
She knew by the smell he was covered with gould!

MORRISSEY AND THE BENICIA BOY.

YE undaunted sons of Ireland, I pray attend awhile,

To those few lines I have penned down, they will cause you for to smile,

Concerning a great battle fought on Columbia's shore

By the Benicia Boy and Morrissey, that came from Templemore.

The Benicia Boy a challenge sent our hero out of hand,
And said, no man from Ireland before him there could stand;
Our hero smiled and then replied: "I'll meet you on the plain,
And for Paddy's land I mean to stand the laurels to maintain."

Five and twenty hundred dollars the prize it was to be,
Long Island being appointed in North America;

Both small and great from every State in multitudes had ran,
The Americans thought their champion would kill our Irishman.

When the two gallant champions stripped and stepped into the ring,

Some time they parried each other's blows with many a nimble spring;

The Benicia Boy drew first blood and knocked our hero down, And in the second round they fought they both came to the ground.

The third and fourth the Yank was floored by Morrissey it appears,

The fifth brave Morrissey went down amidst the Yankee cheers:
They boldly offered ten to one bright dollars on the ground,
While the Irish independently they took the bets all 'round.

I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her

That such a misfortune should give her

such pain;

'Twas the haymaking season-I can't tell leave her

She vowed for such pleasure she'd break it again.

'Twas the haymaking season-I can't tell the reason,

Misfortunes will never come singly, 'tis plain,

For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster, The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.

MICHAEL DWYER.-Continued.

"Twas done" And now," said Dwyer, “your work you may begin;
You are a hundred outside, we're only four within;
We've heard your haughty summons, and this is our reply:
We're true united Irishmen, we'll fight until we die."

Then burst the war's red lightning, then poured the leaden rain,
The hills around reechoed the thunder peals again.
The soldiers falling round him, brave Dwyer sees with pride-
But, ah! one gallant comrade is wounded by his side.

Yet there are three remaining good battle still to do;
Their hands are strong and steady, their aim is quick and true;
But, hark-that furious shouting the savage soldiers raise!
The house is fired around them, the roof is in a blaze!

"Place in my hands a musket, then lie upon the floor,
I'll stand before the soldiers and open wide the door;
They'll pour into my bosom the fire of their array,

Then while their guns are empty, dash through them and away!
He stood before the foemen, revealed amidst the flame,
From out their leveled pieces the wished-for volley came;
Up sprang the three survivors for whom the hero died,
But only Michael Dwyer burst through the ranks outside.

He baffled his pursuers, who followed like the wind,
And swam the river Slaney, and left them far behind,
But many a scarlet soldier he promised soon should fall,
For those, his gallant comrades, who died in wild Emall.

BARNEY BRALLAGHAN.

'Twas on a frosty night at two o'clock in the morning,
An Irish lad so tight, all wind and weather scorning,
At Judy Callaghan's door, sitting upon the palings,
His love tale did pour, and this was part of his wailings:

Only say you'd have Mister Brallaghan,
Don't say nay, charming Judy Callaghan.

Oh, list to what I say, charms you've got like Venus,
Own your love you may, there's only the wall between us;
You lay fast asleep, snug in bed and snoring,
Round the house I creep, your hard heart imploring:

I've got nine pigs and a sow, I've got a stye to sleep them,
A calf and a brindle cow, I've got a cabin to keep them;
Sunday hose and coat, an old gray mare to ride on,
Saddle and bridle to boot, which you may ride astride on:

I've got an old Tom cat, although one eye is staring,
I've got a Sunday hat, a little the worse for wearing;
I've got some gooseberry wine, the trees have got no riper on,
I've got a fiddle so fine, which only wants a piper on:
I've got an acre of ground, I've got it set with praties,
I've got of backey a pound, and got some tea for the ladies;
I've got the ring to wed, some whisky to make us gai'y,
A mattress and feather bed, and a handsome new shellelah:
You've got a charming eye, you've got some spelling and reading,
You've got, and so have I, a taste for genteel breeding.
You're rich and fair and young, as every one is knowing,
You've got a decent tongue whene'er 'tis set a-going:

For a wife till death I am willing to take ye,

But, och! I waste my breath, the devil himself can't wake ye; "Tis just beginning to rain, so I'll get under cover, I'll come to-morrow again and be your constant lover:

Fear! Wherefore should the Celtic people fear

Their Church's fate? The day is not-the day was never nearCould desolate

The Destined Island, all whose seedy clay Is holy ground

Its cross shall stand till that predestined day,

When Erin's self is drowned!