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THE SHAMROCK AND LAUREL-Continued.

THAT ROGUE, REILLY.
As the lily was the glory
Of the olden flag of France;

THERE's a boy that follows me every day, although he declares As the rese illunies the story

that I use him vilely, Of the Albion's advance

But all I can do he won't go away, this obstinate, ranting Reilly; In the shamirock is communion

In every street 'tis him I meet, in vain the by way path I try,

The very shadow of my feet, I might as well attempt to fiy, Of all Irish faith and love;

As that boy that follows me every day, although he declares that And the laurel crowas the union

I use him vilely.
Of grandeurs interwove

Yet all I can say he won't go away, that raking, ranting Reily. 'Round the temple of the chainless To the laurel fill libations,

My mother she sent me ten miles away in hopes that the follow The cup with shamrocks wreathing;

would never find me; And before the monarch-nations

But the very next day we were making hay the vilain stood Raise the symbol, breathing;

close behind me; “ Equal Rights ”-to lordlings gairless!

For this, says I, you shall dearly pay, how dare you such a free

dom take? Interweave the lowly shamrock,

Says he, I heard you were making hay, and I thought, my dear, Freedom's laurel to endow;

you'd want a rake; Ay! unite with Ireland s shamrock

And therefore I followed you here to-day with your diamond eye Columbia's laurel bough-

and your point, For there's hope and help unchary Like a needle concealed in a bundle of hay, but I found you out, Columbia's skies beneath,

said Reilly. And from every cliff and prairie, To Erin's hills of heath,

I told him at last, in à rage, to pack, and then for a while he Salutations, clear and cheerful,

fought more shyly; Resound across the ocean;

But, like a bad shilling, he soon came back, that counterfeit rogue, And Celts, in might increasing,

that Reilly. With patriot emotion,

To hunt me up he takes disguise, one day a beggar wench appears. Vow in their souls unceasing:

'Twas that rogue himself, but I knew his eyes, and didn't I box “We'll avenge thee, Mother Tearful!

the rascal's ears? Yet still he keeps following every day, plotting and planning so

cute and slyly, THE DEAR IRISH BOY.

And there isn't a fox more tricks can play than raking, ranting

Reilly. May Connor's cheeks are as ruddy as morn;

The brightest of pearls but mimic his teeth; A nunnery, now, my old maiden aunt, declares for young women While nature with ringlets his mild brow

the best protection, adorn,

But shelter so very secure I can't consider without objection. His hair's Cupid's bow strings, and roses his A plague on the fellows, both great and small, they bother us so breath.

till they find a wife.

Yet if we should never be bothered at all I think 'twould be rather CHORUS.

a stupid life;

So the rogue still follows me every day and I continue to use him Smiling, beguiling, cheering, endearing,

vilely, Together oft o'er the mountain we've But the neighbors all say till I'm turn'd to clay I'll never get rid strayed ;

of Reilly. By each other delighted, and fondly united, I've listened all day to my dear Irish boy.

THE IRISH WEDDING. No roebuck more swift can flee o'er the moun- SURE won't you hear what roaring cheer was spread at Paddy's tain,

wedding, 0? No Briton bolder 'midst danger or scar;

And how so gay they spend the day from churching to the bedHe's sightly, he's rightly, he's as clear as the First, book’ in hand, came Father Quipes with the bride's dadda,

fountain, His eye's twinkling love, and he's gone to the While the chaunter with her merry pipes struck up a lilt so

the bailie, 0,

gaily, 0. The soft tuning lark its notes shal cease to

Tiddery, teddery, etc. mourning,

Now there was Mat and sturdy Pat and merry Morgan Murphyn The dull screaming owl shall cease its night's And Murdock Maggs, and Tirlogh Shaggs, McLoughlin and Dick sleep;

Durfy, 0); While seeking lone walks in the shades of the And then the girls, rigged out in white, led on by Ted O'Rily: 0), evening,

While the chaunter with her merry pipes struck up a lilt so If my Connor return not, I'll ne'er cease to

gaily, 0. weep.

When Pat was asked if his love would last, the chapel echoed wit! The war is all over, and my love is not return

laughter, 0, ing,

By my soul, says Pat, you may say that to the end of the world I fear that some envious plot has been laid ; and after, 0, Or some cruel goddess has him captivated, Then tenderly her hand he gripes and kisses her genteely, 0, And left me to mourn here, a dear Irish maid. While the chaunter with her merry pipes struck up a lilt so

gaily, o.

aing, 0?

war.

THE IRISH WEDDING.-Continued.

“ STAMPING OUT.” Then a roaring set at dinner met, so frolicksome and so frisky, 0, Potatoes galore a skirrig or more with a flowing madder of Ay, stamp away! Can you stamp it outwhisky, 0.

This quenchless fire of a nation's freedom ? Then around, to be sure, didn't go the wipes, at the bride's ex- Your feet are broad and your le s are stout,

But stouter for this you'll need 'em! pense so freely, 0, While the chaunter with the merry pipes struck up a lilt so You have stamped away for six hundred years, gaily 0.

But again and again the Old Cause rallies, Pikes gleam in the hands of our mountaineers,

And with scythes come the men from our And then at night, oh, what delight to see them capering and

valleys; prancing, 0,

The steel-clad Norman as he roams An opera or ball were nothing at all compared to the style of

Is faced by our naked gallowglasses, their dancing, 0; And then to see old rather Quipes beating time with his shillelah, We lost the plains and our pleasant homes,

But we held the hills and passes!
O,

And still the beltane fires at night, While the chaunter with the merry pipes struck up a lilt so

If not a man were left to feed emgaily, o.

By widows' hands piled high and bright,

Flashed far the flame of Freedom! And now the lot so tipsy are got, they'll go to sleep without rock.

ing, 0, While the bridesmaids fair so gravely prepare for the throwing of Ay, stamp away! Can you stamp it out, the stocking, 0;

Or how have your brutal arts been baffled ? Decadorous we'll have, says Father Quipes, then the bride was You have wielded the power of rope and knot, kissed round, genteely, 0);

Fire, dungeon, sword and scalfold. While to wish them good night, the merry pipes struck up a lilt But still, as from each martyr's hand so gaily, 0.

The Fiery Cross fell down in fighting,

A thousand sprang to seize the brand,
THE GREEN ABOVE THE RED.

Our beltane fires relighting!

And once again through Irish nights, FULL often when our fathers saw the red above the green,

O’er every dark hill redly streaming, They rose in rude but fierce array, with saber, pike, and skian,

And numerous as the heavenly lights And over many a noble town, and many a field of dead,

Our rebel fires were gleaming ! They proudly set the Irish green above the English red.

And though again might fail that flame,

Quenched in the blood of its devoted, But in the end, throughout the land, the shameful sight was

Fresh chieftains #rose, fresh clansmen

came, The English red in triumph high above the Irish green;

And again the Old Flag foated !
But well they died in breach and field, who, as their spirits fled,
Still saw the green maintain its place above the English red.

That fire will burn, that flag will float,

By Virtue nursed, by Valor tended-And they who saw, in after times, the red above the green,

Till with one fierce clutch upon your throat Were withered as the grass that dies beneath the forest screen;

Your Moloch reign is ended !
Yet often by this healthy hope their sinking hearts were fed,
That, in some day to come, the green should flutter o'er the red.

It may be now, or it may be then,
That the hour will come we have hoped for

ageg-
Sure 'twas for this Lord Edward died, and Wolfe Tone sunk But, failing and failing, we try again,

And again the conflict rages.
Because they could not bear to leave the red above the green; Our hate though hot is a patient hate,
And 'twas for this Owen fought and Sarsfield nobly bled-

Deadly and patient to catch you trippingBecause their eyes were lot to see the green above the red. And your years are many, your crimes are

great, So when the strife began again, our darling Irish green

And the scepter is from you slipping. Was down upon the earth, while high the English red was seen; Put stamp away with your brutal hoof, Yet still we hold our fearless course, for something in us said, While the fires to scorch you are upward Before the strife is o'er you'll see the green above the red.

cleaving,

For, with bloody shuttles, the warp and And 'tis for this we think and toil, and knowledge strive to glean,

woof That we may pull the English red below the Irish green;

Of your shroud the Fates are weaving! And leave our sons sweet liberty and smiling plenty spread, Above the land once dark with blood—the green above the red.

THE PRETTY MAID MILKING HER COW. The jealous English tyrant now has banned the Irish green, And forced us to conceal it like a something ioul and mean; It being on a fine summer's morning, But yet, by heaven! he'll sooner raise his victims from the dead, As birds sweetly tuned on each bough, Than force our hearts to leave the green and cotton to the red. I heard a fair maid sing most charming,

As she sat a-milking her cow. We'll trust ourselves, for God is good, and blesses those who lean ller voice was enchanting-melodious, On their brave hearts, and not upon an earthly king or queen; Which left me scarce able to go; And, freely as we lift our hands we vow our blood to shed, My heart it was soothed in solace, Once and forever more to raise the green above the red.

By the pretty maid milking her cow.

seen

serene-

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me.

“I don't understand what you mean, sir, I never was a slave yet to love;

One night he robbed an Irishman by the name of Juler Bawn, These emotions I cannot experience,

They traveled on together till the day began to dawn; So, I pray, these affections remove.

The Juler found his money gone, likewise his watch and chain, To marry, I can assure you,

He at once encountered him and robbed him back again.
That state I will not undergo;
So, young man, I pray, you will excuse me!
Said this pretty maid milking her cow.

When Willie found the packman was as good a man as he,

He took him on the highway his companion for to be; “Had I the wealth of great Omar,

The Juler threw away his pack without any more delay, Or all on the African shore;

And he proved a faithful comrade amidst his Agnus-dei.
Or had I great Devonshire's treasure,
Or had I ten thousand times more;
Or had I the lamp of Aladdin,

One day upon the highway, as Willie he sat down,
And had I his genius also,

He met the Mayor of Cashil a mile outside the town; I'd rather live poor on a mountain

The Mayor he knew his features—I think, young man, said he, With colleen dhas cruthin amoe.”

That your name is Willie Brennen, you must come along with. * I beg you withdraw and don't tease me,

I cannot consent unto thee;
I prefer to live single and airy

Willie's wife, she being in town provisions for to buy,
Till more of the world I see,

When she saw her Willie she began to weep and cry; New cares they would me embarrass, I wish he handed me the temperers; as soon as Willie spoke, Beside, sir, my fortune is low;

She handed him a blunderbuss from underneath her cloak. Until I get rich I'll not marry! Said the colleen dhas cruthin amoe.

It's with this loaded blunderbuss, the truth I will unfold, A young maid is like a ship sailing,

He made the Mayor to tremble and robbed him of his gold; She don't know how long she may steer; One hundred pounds he offered for his apprehension there, For in every blast she is in danger,

And he with horse and saddle to the mountains then repaired.
So consent and love me, my dear.
For riches I care not a farthing,

Willie, being an outlaw upon the mountains high,
Your affection I want, and no more;
In wedlock I wish to bind you,

With cavalry and infantry to take him they did try;

He laughed at them with scorn, until at length did say: Sweet colleen dhas cruthin amoe."

Ah! a false-hearted young woman did basely me betray. ERIN. When Erin first rose from the dark swelling in the county of Tipperary, in a place called Clonmore,

Brennen and his comrade was made to suffer sore; flood, God bless'd the green island, and saw it was And he received nine wounds before that he would yield.

He lay amongst the briars, that grew thick upon the field, good; The em'rald of Europe, it sparkled and shone, In the ring of the world, the most precious They were taken prisoners, in irons they were bound, stone.

Conveyed to Clonmel jail, and strong walls did them surround; In her sun, in her soil, in her station thrice The jury found them guilty, the Judge made this reply: blest,

For robbing on the Queen's highway, you're both condemned to die. With her back towards Britain, her face to the

West, Erin stands proudly insular, on her steep Farewell unto my wife, and you my children three ! shore,

And you my aged father, that may shed tears for me! And strikes her high harp ʼmid the ocean’s And you my loving mother, tore her gray locks and cried: deep roar.

It were better, Willie Brennen, in your cradle Agall Chigh!

her eyes,

ERIN.-Continued.

A PRIVATE STILL. But when its soft tones seem to mourn and to

An exciseman, once, Dublin, at the time that I was there, Weer, The dark chain of silence is thrown o'er the lle fancied that a private still was being worked somewhere; deep:

He met me out one morning, perhaps he fancied that I knew, At the thought of the past the tears gush from But I didn't; Never mind that, says he, Pat, how do you do?

Says I: I'm very well, your honor, but allow me for to say, And the pulse of her heart makes her white i don't know you at all, by jove! But, says he, but, perhaps, you bosom rise.

may! O! sons of green Erin, lament o'er the time, I want to find a something out, assist me if you will, When religion was war, and our country a Here's fifty pounds if you can tell me where's a private still.

crime, When man, in God's image, inverted his plan, Give me the fifty pounds, says I, upon my soul! I can, And moulded his God in the image of man. I'll keep my word, the devil a lie, as I'm an Irishman!

The fifty pounds he then put down, I pocketed the fee. When the int’rest of state wrought the gen. Said I: Now, button up your coat and straightway follow me. eral woe,

I took him walking up the street, and talking all the while, The stranger a friend, and the native a foe;

He little thought I'd got to take him a thund'ring many miles. While the mother rejoic'd o'er her children op. Says he: How much further, Pat? for I am getting very tired. pressed,

Said I: Then let us have a car. And a jaunting car he hired. And clasped the invader more close to her breast.

As soon as we got in the car, said he: Now tell me, Pat, When with pale for the body and pale for the Where is this blessed private still? don't take me for a flat. soul

A flat! your honor, no! says I, but hear me, if you will, Church and state joined in compact to conquer And I, at orce, will tell you, sir, where there's a private still. the whole;

Go on at once, says he. Says I: All right, now mark me well, And as Shannon was stained with Milesian I nave a brother that is close by here, in the barracks he does blood,

dwell; Ey'd each other askance and pronounced it was I assure you he's a soldier, though he went against his will. good.

The devil take your brother! says he, where's the private still? By the groans that ascend from your forefathers' grave,

Hold your wist! says I, old chap! and I will plainly show For the country thus left to the brute and the That in the army, why, of course, promotion is very slow. slave,

Said the exciseman, Yes, I'm sure it is they're only meant to kill; Drive the Demon of Bigotry home to his den, but never mind your brother, tell me where's the private still? And where Britain made brutes now let Erin Said I, I'm coming to it; the barrack's close at hand, make men.

And, if you look straight thro' the gates you'll see and hear Let my sons like the leaves of the shamrock

the band, unite,

And when the band's done playing, you'll see the soldiers drill. A partition of sects from one footstalk of right, The blazes take the soldiers ! tell me, where's the private still? Give each his full share of the earth and the sky,

Half a minute more, says I, I'll point him out to you, Nor fatten the slave where the serpent would Faith! there he is, says I, old chap, standing 'twixt them two! die.

Who the blazes do you mean? said he. I said: My brother Bill.

Well! says he. Well, says I, they won't make him a corporal, so Alas! for poor Erin that some are still seen,

he's a private still! Who would dye the grass red from their hatred The exciseman stamped and—and said he'd have his money back, to Green;

But I jumped in the car myself, and off was in a crack! Yet, oh! when you're up and they're down, let And the people, as he walked along, tho' much against his will, them live,

Shout after him: Exciseman, have you found the private still? Then yield them that mercy which they would not give.

TERRY O’RANN. Arm of Erin, be strong! but be gentle as brave! And uplifted to strike, be still ready to save! TERRY O’RANN was a fine young man, and from a boy it was his Let no feeling of vengeance presume to defile joy The cause of, or men of, the Emerald Isle. To tipple and drink, and lovingly wink at all the gay lasses in

Derry; The cause it is good, and the men they are true, And when his first love he was making, the girls for him had such And the Green shall outlive both the Orange

a taking and Blue!

If he'd just wink his eye, och, wouldn't they sigh, you'd think all And the triumphs of Erin her daughters shall

their backs was a-breaking. share,

He took whisky punch every night to his lunch, all the thoughts With the full swelling chest, and the fair flow- of his love to bury, ing hair.

And then he would roam far away from his home, to the grief Their bosom heaves high for the worthy and of the lasses of Derry.

brave. But no coward shall rest in that soft-swelling Day and night 'twas his delight to play this game, without any wave;

shame, Men of Erin! awake, and make haste to the Till stopped by death, which took his breath, and killed him with blest,

whisky in Derry; Rise--Arch of the Ocean and Queen of the His loss to the lasses was grievous, but froin death there is West!

nothing can save us,

TERRY O'RANN.-Continued.

MRS. MCLAUGHLIN'S PARTY. And every soul in terror dia howl, saying, Och, Terry, why did ye lave us?

Ould Ireland is the place for a frolic,

The boys and the girls are frisky; That night at the wake every head it did ache, and when they went with the coffin to bury,

They never can feel melancholic, A crowd was seen that covered the green in the black-looking

They're the divils for tippling the whisky. churchyard in Derry.

For a row or a ruction, oh, murther!

The boys they go in strong and hearty;

Now I'll tell yez, before I go further,
The Mayor of the town was a man of renown, he was a shoe-

Of Mrs. McLaughlin's party.
maker, a tailor,
A baker, a doctor besides, and undertaker to all the people in
Derry;

CHORUS.
And when they were all merry making, himself to his bed he

Whoo! it's welt the flure, Peter O'Doherty, was taking When Terry's dead ghost stood at his bedpost, says he: 'Tis a

Shake your leg, Biddy McCarty; shame to the waking.

Dance to your partners, ye divils,

At Mrs. McLaughlin's party. Nor I don't ask your lave to come from the grave, your conduct

is shocking, och, very. I say to your face, you must alter my case, or I'll tell all the Moll Dolan, a buxom young craythur, people in Derry.

Had lately been raising my dandher;

I met her going down to McGuflin's I was buried to-day, but where I lay the ground was damp and To borry the loan of a gandler. gave me the cramp.

The gandher the geese had been coorting, All over my body the wet did get, there was water enough for a She sould it to Paddy McCarty; ferry;

To buy her a pair of white slippers And besides my feelings to harrow, I was doubled up as if in a To go to McLaughlin's party.

barrow, I was wedged in tight-bound, I couldn't turn 'round, my coffin For a week or two I was preparing, was too devilish narrow.

Determined in style for to shank it; It was made of bad stuff, not half long enough, and as sure as Put a pair of new tails to my coat my name it is Terry,

With a piece I cut off the blanket. I will not lay quiet, but I'll kick up a riot, I'll haunt all the I turned the corduroy breeches people in Derry.

I borrowed from Phelim O'Flaherty;

And I put a new patch on the sate, Pray, says the Mayor, now take a chair, if you'll allow, I'll meas- For to cut a big swell at the party.

ure you now, For a new coffin, longer and broader and stronger, if that'll make

They hired a fiddler and piper, your heart merry;

An' stuck them on top of a barrel, Then the ghost brightened up in a jiffy, his frolicksome spirits

With a jug full of whisky between 'em, grew frisky.

To kep them from having a quarrel. Says he: With pleasure, you make take my measure, and I'll When the piper struck up Garryowen," take a measure of whisky;

Faix! the fiddler another tune started; For you needn't be told that the grave's very cold, and doesn't And they welted the soles off their brogues, agree with poor Terry.

Whoo! at Mrs. McLaughlin's party. I'm a comical elf, so I'll drink a good health to all the live lasses in Derry.

Tim Fagin got up for a reel,

But he jigged it on every one's corns; While the bottle and glass merrily pass, and Terry was ripe for To try for to stop him was worse a song or a fight,

Than to take a mad bull by the horns. The clock struck one, and ended the fun of the frolicksome He skinned Dinny Haggerty's shins, corpse of poor Terry;

Tore the skirts off Winny O'Doherty; For the sound of the clock was a warning that no ghost e'er And exposed the dear crathur's fat liinbs was scorning.

To all the gay boys at the party. So tipsy and drunk away he slunk to get into his grave before morning

Now while they were dancing and jigging, But the old women say that he missed his way, for the coffin they Tom Cassidy burst in the dure, sir; did bury

Thin the ducks and the dhrakes and the pigs, Was quite empty found in the turned-up ground, to the grief of They came all flying in on the flure, sir. the lasses in Derry.

The ould sow it set up a-grunting,

The girls laughed merry and hearty; The truth to suppose, for there's nobody knows, the ghost ran While the pig balancayed down the middle, hard to gain the churchyard.

At Mrs. McLaughlin's party. But to his distress he got into a mess by meeting some blackguards in Derry;

Thin the party was brought to an ending, Surrounded in every direction, no shillelah had he for protection, The fiddler fell drunk from the table; So they, in a crack, popped him in a sack and carried him off for Thy carried him home on a shutter, dissection.

Tore off the dure of the stable. He told all the house he was but a poor ghost, but they wouldn't We'd an elegant fight on the way believe him, poor Terry.

With a faction from Ballykillarty; With hearts hard as stones, cut the flesh off his bones, and an- And I'll be d-d if we hadn't to pay atomised Terry of Derry.

For the frolic we had at the party.

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