KATE OF ARRAGLEN.-Continued.

And when some rustling, dear,
Fell on thy listening ear,
You thought your brother near,
And named his name.

I could not answer, though,
As luck would have it so,
His name and mine, you know,
Were both the same-
Hearing no answering sound,
You glanced in doubt around,
With timid look, and found
It was not he;

Turning away your head,
And blushing rosy red,
Like a wild fawn you fled
Far, far from me.

The swan upon the lake,
The wild rose in the brake,
The golden clouds that make
The west their throne,
The wild ash by the stream,
The full moon's silver beam,
The ev'ning star's soft gleam,
Shining alone;

The lily robed in white,
All, all are fair and bright;
But ne'er on earth was sight
So bright, so fair,
As that one glimpse of thee,
That I caught then, machree,
It stole my heart from me
That ev'ning there.
And now you're mine alone,
That heart is all my own-
That heart that ne'er hath known
A flame before.

That form of mould divine,
That snowy hand of thine-
Those locks of gold are mine
For evermore.

Was lover ever seen
As blest as thine, Kathleen?
Hath lover ever been

More fond, more true?

Thine is my every vow!
Forever dear, as now!
Queen of my heart be thou!

Mo cailin ruadh!

IRISH MOLLY, O!

As I walked out one morning, all in the month of May,

I met a pretty Irish girl, and thus to her did say;

I put my hand in my pocket, as it happened so,

And pulled out a guinea to treat my Molly, O.

CHORUS.

She is young, she is beautiful, she is the fairest one I know, The primrose of Ireland before my guinea go,

And the only one that entices me is my Irish Molly, O.

I said: My pretty fair maid, will you go along with me?

I will show you the straight way across the country.
My parents would be angry if they should come to know,
They will lay all the blame to my Scotch laddie, O.-CHORUS.

When Molly's own father he came to know,

That she had been courted by a Scotch laddie, O,

He sent for young McDonald, and these words to him did say: If you court my daughter, Mary, I will send you far away.CHORUS...

Since Molly has deceived me, all by her father's ways,

Through some lonely woods and valleys, it's there I'll spend my

days;

Like some poor forlorn pilgrim I wander to and fro,
It's all for the sake of my Irish Molly, O.-CHORUS.

There is a rose in Dublin, I thought she would be mine,
For to come to my funeral is all I do require;
My body shall be ready by the dawning of the day,
It is all for the sake of my bonny Irish maid.-CHORUS.
When that I'm buried, there is one thing more I crave,
To lay a marble tombstone at the head of my grave;
And on this tombstone a prayer shall be said,

That young McDonald lies here for his poor Irish maid-
CHORUS.

Come all you pretty, fair maidens, a warning take by me,
And never build a nest at the top of any tree;

For the green leaves may wither, and the root it will decay,
And the beauty of a fair maid will soon fade away.-CHORUS.

DONNYBROOK FAIR.

Now it was a Monday morning in the pleasant month of May,
As myself I took a jolly ride with charming Molly Gray;
Whose eyes shone like the stars, and her cheeks were like the
rose,

I'll tell you all about it, just as my story goes.

CHORUS.

But as I drive my jaunting car, I drive away dull care,
And never can forget the day we went to Donnybrook fair.
Arrah! Molly had on her Sunday gown, and I my Sunday coat,
It as in my breeches pocket I had a one-pound note,
With an odd few shillings or so, and the whip was in my hand;
She jumped upon my Irish car, and away we drove so grand.

But Molly and me both agreed to become man and wife,
So the best we try in every way to be happy all our life;
Or should the times be good or bad, we drive away dull care,
We never shall forget the day we went to Donnybrook fair.

So fill the glasses full, my friends, and give one toast with me; Here's success to dear old Ireland, the bright gem of the sea! Let us hope the day is drawing nigh, and may we live to see That poor, down-trodden Emerald Isle a land of liberty.

THE GIRL OF DUNBWY-Continued.

THE IRISH REFUGEE.

And her teeth flash as white as the crescent

WIDOW MACHREE, pray then open your door, Och, hone! widow Machree,

And show me the easiest plank in your floor, Och, hone! widow Machree,

Ye have nothing to fear,

I tell you, my dear,

Not a sound can ye hear
In sleep coming from me;

Barrin' that I should creep,
Or walk in my sleep,
Och, hone! widow Machree.

Widow Machree, for the third and last time,
Och, hone! widow Machree,
Will you listen to reason that's seasoned with
rhyme?

Och, hone! widow Machree.

Just think of the time

When you'd get past your prime,
Would you think it a crime
That you cheated mankind
Of what nature designed?

Darlin' widow Machree, will you fully explain,
Och, hone! widow Machree,

For the good of your conscience and soul, what

I mean?

Och, hone! widow Machree.

Didn't old Adam loan

From his rib a back-bone

To manufacture, och, hone!

For posterity

The first female man?

Deny that if you can,
Och, hone! widow Machree.

Widow Machree, pay your debts, fie for shame,
Och, hone! widow Machree,

As you owe man a rib, I lay claim to that same,
Och, hone! widow Machree.

And by paying the debt,
You'll draw interest yet,
And an armful you'll get

Of that same property;

Shall be yours while life bides,
And a great deal besides,

Och, hone! widow Machree.

while,

That is the reason why I left and had to emigrate.

Such sights as that I've often seen, but I saw worse in Skibareen,
In 'Forty-eight (that time is no more), when famine it was great;
I saw fathers, boys, and girls with rosy cheeks and silken curls,
All a-missing and starving for a mouthful of food to eat.
When they died at Skibareen no shrouds or coffins were to be seen,
But patiently reconciling themselves to their desperate, horrid
fate-

They were thrown in graves by wholesale which caused many an
Irish heart to wail-

And caused many a boy and girl to be most glad to emigrate. Where is the nation or the land that reared such men as Paddy's land?

Where is the man more noble than he they called poor Irish Pat? We have fought for England's queen and beat her foes wherever

The land from which we love the best poor Paddy must emigrate. There is not a son from Paddy's land but respects the memory of Dan,

Who fought and struggled hard to part that poor and plunder'd country.

He advocated Ireland's rights with all his strength and might,
And he was but poorly recompensed for all his toil and pains.
He told us for to be in no haste, and in him for to place our
trust,

And he would not desert us or leave us to our fate;

But death to him no favor showed, from the begging to the

throne.

Since they took our liberator poor Pat must emigrate.

With spirits bright and purses light, my boys, we can no longer stay,

For the Shamrock is immediately bound for America;

For there is bread and worth which I cannot get in Donegal,

I told the truth, by great Saint Ruth, believe me what I say.
Good night, my boys, with hand and heart, all you who take old
Ireland's part.

I can no longer stay at home, for fear of being too late:

If ever again I see this land I hope it will be with a Fenian band, So God be with old Ireland, poor Pat must emigrate!

BONNY IRISH BOY.

His name I love to mention, in Ireland he was born,
I loved him very dearly, but alas! from me he's gone;
He's gone to America, he promised to send for me,
But the face of my bonny Irish boy I can no longer see.

It was in Londonderry that city of note and fame, Where first my bonny Irish lad a-courting to me came. He told me pleasant stories, and said his bride I'd be, But the face of my bonny Irish boy I can no longer see.

I engaged my passage for New York, and, on arriving there, To seek and find my Irish boy I quickly did prepare;

I searched New York and Providence, and Boston, all in vain, But the face of my bonny Irish boy was nowhere to be seen.

I went to Philadelphia, and from there to Baltimore,

I searched the State of Maryland, I searched it o'er and o'er.
I prayed that I might find him, wherever he might be,
But the face of my bonny Irish boy I could no longer see.

One night as I lay in my bed, I dreamt I was his bride,
And sitting on the Blue Bell Hill, and he sat by my side.
A-gathering primroses, like the happy days of yore,
I awoke quite broken-hearted in the city of Baltimore.

Early then next morning a knock came to my door,

I heard his voice, I knew it was the lad I did adore;

I hurried up to let him in, I never felt such joy

As when I fell into the arms of my darling Irisa boy.

Now that we are married, he never shall go to sea,

He knows I love him dearly, and I'm sure that he loves me;
My first sweet son is called for him, my heart's delight and joy,
He's the picture of his father, he's a darling Irish boy.

Farewell to Londonderry, I ne'er shall see you more,
Ah, many a pleasant night we spent around the sweet Lone Moor;
Our pockets were light, our hearts were good, we longed to be
free,

And talked about a happy home and the land of liberty.

CROOSKEEN LAWN.

LET the farmer praise his grounds, as the hunter does his hounds,
And the shepherd his sweet-scented lawn,

While I, more blest than they, spend each happy night and day
With my smiling little crooskeen lawn, lawn, lawn.
Oh, my smiling little crooskeen lawn,

Leante ruma crooskeen,

Sleante gar, mavourneen,

Agus gramachree, ma colleen, ban, ban, ban,

Agus gramachree, ma colleen, ban.

In court with manly grace, should Sir Toby plade his case,
And the merits of his cause made known,

Without his cheerful glass he'd be stupid as an ass,
So he takes a little crooskeen lawn.

Then fill your glasses high, let's not part with lips so dry,
Though the lark should proclaim it is dawn;

But if we can't remain, may we shortly meet again
To fill another crooskeen lawn.

And when grim death appears, after few but happy years, And tells me my glass it is run.

I'll say: Begone, you slave, for great Bacchus gives me lave Just to fill another crooskeen lawn.

THE FENIAN'S ESCAPE.

Now, boys, if you will listen to the story I'll relate,
I'll tell you of the noble men who from the foe escaped;
Though bound with Saxon fetters in the dark Australian jail.
They struck a blow for freedom, and for Yankee land set sail,
On the 17th of April last the Stars and Stripes did fly
On board the bark "Catalpa," waving proudly to the sky;
She showed the green above the red, as she did calmly lay
Prepared to take the Fenian boys in safety o'er the sea.

When Breslin and brave Desmond brought the prisoners to the shore They gave one shout for freedom-soon to bless them evermoreAnd manned by gallant hearts, they pulled toward the Yankee flag,

For well they knew, from its proud folds no tyrant could them drag.

They have nearly reached in safety the "Catalpa," taut and trim,
When fast approaching them they saw a vision dark and dim;
It was the steamer "Georgette," and on her deck there stood
One hundred hired assassins, to shed each patriot's blood.

The steamer reached the bounding bark and fired across her bow,
Then in loud voice commanded that the vessel should heave to;
But noble Captain Anthony, in thunder tones did cry:
You dare not fire a shot at that bright flag that floats on high;
My ship is sailing peacefully beneath that flag of stars,
It's manned by Irish hearts of oak, and manly Yankee tars;
And that dear emblem at the fore, so plain now to be seen,
'Tis the banner I'll protect, old Ireland's flag of green.

The Britisher he sailed away-from the stars and stripes he ran-
He knew his chance was slim to fight the boys of Uncle Sam;
So Hogan, Wilson, Harrington, with Darragh off did go,
With Hassett and bold Cranston, soon to whip the Saxon foc.
Here's luck to that noble Captain, who well these men did free,
He dared the English man-of-war to fight him on the sea.
And here's to that dear emblem which in triumph shall be seen,
The flag for which those patriots fought, dear Ireland's flag of
green.

LARRY O'GAFF.

NEAR a bog in sweet Ireland, I am told, sure there born 1 was,
Well I remember a bright Monday morn it was;
My daddy, poor man, would cry: What a greenhorn I was
Three months I am married, hurrah! how they laugh.
Says he to my mother: Troth, Judy, I'll leave you joy.
Says Judy to him: Oh! the devil may care, my boy.
By St. Patrick, I'll leave you both here to weep and cry,
What shall we do for our daddy O'Gaff?

With my didrewhack off I am, none of your blarney, man,
Keep your brat to your chat all the day so you may:
By the powers! I won't tarry; so he left little Larry,
I never saw more of my daddy O'Gaff.

Och! it's then I grew up, and a sweet looking child I was,
Always the devil for handling the stick I was;
But somehow or other, my numbskull so thick it was.
Go where I would, all the folks they did laugh.

I rambled to England, where I met with a squad of boys,
They got me promoted to carry the hod, my boys:
I crept up a ladder like a cat newly shod, my boys,
A steep way to riches, says Larry O'Gaff.
With my didrewhack in and out, head turning round about,
Ladder crack, break your back, tumble down, crack your crown.
My dear Mr. Larry, this hod that you carry
Disgraces the shoulders of Mr. O'Gaff.

LARRY O'GAFF.-Continued.

They made me a master, then dressed like a fop I was,
Bran new and span new from bottom to top I was;
But the old fellow popt in as taking a drop I was,
Says he: Mr. Larry, you bog-trotting calf,

Get out of my house, or I'll lay this about your back;
With the twig in his hand like the mast of a herring smack,
Over my napper he made the switch for to crack:

Said I: This don't suit you, Mr. O'Gaff.

With my didrewhack hub bub bo, drums beating row de row,
O dols my life plays the fife, Patrick's day, fire away;
In the army so frisky, we'll tipple the whisky,
With the whack for ould Ireland and Larry O'Gaff.

Then they made me a soldier, mut, oh! how genteel I was!
Scarlet and tapes from the neck to the heels I was;
Larry, says I, when brought into the field I was,

This sort of fighting don't suit you by half.

We fought like the devil, as Irishmen ought to do,
So sweetly we beat Mr. Bony at Waterloo;

But now the wars are over, and peace we've brought home to you,

Welcome to old Ireland and Larry O'Gaff.

With my didrewhack save my neck, round and sound free from wound,

With a wife to spend my life, sport and play, night and day; Arrah with your blarney, for the breed of the Carneys, Would fight for old Ireland and Larry O'Gaff.

"Shall we ever again see Ireland, Frank,
And play upon Irish ground,
This glorious game, where our brethren sank
In the death of the starved hound?
On our side Erinn,* our island mother,
Each hurler true as a sworn brother;
Blither game had ne'er been seen
Than I hope to play some day or other
To the goal of an Irish green!"

The foe was gone with the morning's light,
And the flag of emerald hue
Waved proudly above the wooded height,
Begemmed with the morning's dew.
And o'er many a fight did that banner wave,
And o'er many an Irish warrior's grave
Its mourning folds were seen ;—
But how many of all that phalanx brave
Will again see an Irish green?

* Eire ar taev-ne; a frequent cry at Irish hurling

matches

THE SHAMROCK AND LAUREL.

THERE'S a lofty love abounding
In the emblem of a land;
There's fellowship confounding
The evil mind and hand;
In the token of a nation,

In the flow'ret of a race;
And a multiform oblation
Is uplifted by the grace
And patriotism of millions-

To the hearthstones and hamlets Where gush the native fountains; To the valleys and the streamlets, The cities and the mountainsWith a pride as high as Ilion's!