MY GOOD-LOOKING MAN.

COME, all you pretty maids, of courage brave and true,

I will teach you how to happy live, and avoid all troubles, too;
And if you live a wedded life, now plainly understand,
And don't you ever fall in love with all good-looking men.

When I was sixteen years of age, a damsel in my prime,
I daily thought on wedded life, and how I'd be at the time;
I daily thought on wedded life, its pleasures I did scan,
And I sighed and sobbed, both night and day, to get a nice young

man.

My wish, it seems, too soon I got, for one Sunday afternoon,
As home from church I gaily tripped, I met a fair gossoon;
He looked so fine about the face, to win him I made a plan,
And that very day I set my cap for that good-looking man.
Again, by chance, as out I stepped to take a pleasant roam,
I met this handsome gentleman, who wished to see me home;
I'd fain say no, but it was no use, to go with me was his plan,
So to my home I walked along with my good-looking man.

He said to me, as on we walked: My dear and only love,
If with me you'll consent to wed, I will ever constant prove;
I'll ever be a husband kind and do the best I can,
So my heart and hand I then did give to my good-looking man.

That night was fixed for us to wed-he bid me have all cheer-
He pressed me to his breast, saying: Oh, my Mary dear!
He gently pressed me to his breast, saying: "Oh, my Mary dear!
And there I tied that dreadful knot with that good-looking man.

It was scarce a week, when married I was, one Sunday afternoon,
The day went by, the night came on, off went the honeymoon;
My gent walked out-so did I-for to watch him was my plan,
When soon a flashy girl I saw with my good-looking man.

At once a thought came in my head to entrap my faithless swain,
So quickly I did gain on him, and followed on his train;
It was then and there I heard him swear his love for her outran,
The closest ties for any maid-" Oh, what a nice young man!

They kissed and toyed, and tales of love to her he then did tell,
Thinks I to myself, now is the time to serve you outright well;
He did not me at all espy, so to my home I ran,
And there sat down to anxiously wait for my good-looking man.
The clock was just striking ten, when my gentleman he walked in,
I gently said: My William, dear, where hast thou so long been?
I have been to church, my love, said he-Oh! this I could not
stand,

So the rolling pin I did let fly at my good-looking man.

I blacked his eyes, I tore his hair, in ribbons I tore his clothes, I then took up the poker and laid it across his nose;

He just looked like a chimney-sweep, as out the door he ran,
And never a lady loved again with my good-looking man.

Now, you married folks, take my advice, high and low degree,
When a rakish husband you do get, pitch into him like me;
When I found out I was deceived, it was my only plan
To disfigure the handsome countenance of my good-looking man.

A CUP O' TAY.

ОCH! prate about your wine,
Or poteen, mighty foine,
There's no such draught as mine,
From Ireland to Bombay!
And whether black or green,
Or divil a shade between,
There's nothing I have seen

Wid a gintale cup o' tay!
Whist! hear the kettle sing,
Like birds in early spring;
A sup for any king

Is the darlint in the thray.
Ould cronies dhroppin' in,
The fat ones and the thin,
Shure all their hearts I win

Wid a gintale cup o' tay!

Wid whiskey punch galore
How many heads grow sore?
Shalalahs, too, a score

Most beautifully play.
Wid all their hathin ways,
Good luck to thim Chinaise,
Who sind us o'er the says
Such a gintale cup o' tay!

OH! THE MARRIAGE.

OH! the marriage-the marriage,
With love and mo buachail for me,
The ladies that ride in a carriage
Might envy my marriage to me;
For Owen is straight as a tower,

And tender and loving and true,
He told me more love in an hour
Than the squires of the county could do.
Then, oh! the marriage, etc.

His hair is a shower of soft gold, His eye is as clear as the day, His conscience and vote were unsold When others were carried away; His word is as good as an oath,

And freely 'twas given to me; Oh! sure 'twill be happy for both The day of the marriage to see.

Then, oh! the marriage, etc.

His kinsmen are honest and kind,

The neighbors think much of his skill,
And Owen's the lad to my mind,
Though he owns neither castle nor mill.
But he has a tilloch of land,

A horse, and a stocking of coin,
A foot for the dance, and a hand
In the cause of his country to join.
Then, oh! the marriage, etc.
7

OH! THE MARRIAGE.—Continued.

We meet in market and fair

We meet in the morning and nightHe sits on half of my chair,

And my people are wild with delight. Yet I long through the winter to skim, Though Owen longs more, I can see, When I will be married to him,

And he will be married to me.
Then, oh! the marriage-the marriage,
With love and mo buachail for me,
The ladies that ride in a carriage
Might envy my marriage to me.

HARPSTRINGS.

IRISH eyes of honest blue

With their ways of playful tease.
Heart and hand, so warm and true,
Praise, whose lips ne'er failed to please.

Irish smile, so free of guile.
Angels, tempting but to bless;
Like their bright and verdant isle-
Half a dream, and half caress.
Irish hearts-so bless'd with love
And such tenderness-to feel
All but saints in heaven above,
For such bliss would fondly kneel.
Irish welcome, sweet to share;
Strays the stranger to the Land
Lone, and lost in deep despair
He will grasp a greeting hand.

Irish wit, beyond compare
Lifts and leaves the bumper kind,
When its sparkle, rich and rare,
Fills the eye, and floods the mind.

Irish grief, so weird and wild,
When its soul of music breaks-
Then the giant is the child

As his sob, dread discord wakes.

Irish homes-ye gems of grace,
Where the light of mirth and prayer,
Fitful, gleam from each pure face,
Round its parent fond and fair.

Irish curses, long and loud,
Fright the tyrant on his throne,
Blind the cruel and the proud,
Blight the traitor all disown.

Irish hope, though gray with years,
Wears a lock almost divine.
Not in vain those priestly tears
God for thee hath set a sign.

Irish heroes fought and bled.

Shamed that they could give no more
For Erin-and so they fled
Still pleading to heaven's bright shore.
Irish faith, shines undefiled,
Fervor-blessing every clime;
Christ in dying on thee smiled,
And its halo hallows time.
Irishmen, God bless you all,
Stand together hand in hand;
Hate's misrule must surely fall,
And God bless old Ireland.

FATHER TOM O'NEIL.

THERE was a woman lived in this place, she had three charming

sous,

Their father died and left them, when very young;

A long time she endeavored to maintain her darling sons,

Until the youngest one became a man at the age of twenty-one.

One night he discoursed with his mother, these words to her did say:

"I think it will fall on one of us to go far away:

Your land is too small to support us all, and if you would agree, I am fully bent and well content a clergyman to be.

His mother being glad to hear such a thought come in his mind,
She says: "I will do all I can to help my darling child.”
She spoke unto his brothers, and they did soon agree,
They'd send him off to college, a clergyman to be.

He was not long in college when the Rev. Bishop Brown
Came to examine the collegians and viewed them all around.
He saw this clever young man, marked him above them all-
He was the first he did discourse when on them he did call.

He says: "Young man, where are you from? come, tell me your name."

"I am from the County Armagh, they call me Tom O'Neil; My mother she is a widow of a low degree;

She has done her best endeavors to make a priest of me.”

"As Thomas O'Neil, then, is your name," the Bishop he did say; "Go, study hard, both night and day;

I will have you soon ordained, to help your mother that did so well for thee;

I will send you home a credit, your country boys to see."

When this young man came home ordained, the neighbors were glad to hear,

And all that came to welcome him, came in twos and threes; Particularly his own dear friends to welcome him they ran, And you never saw such welcome as was for the widow's son.

There was a man lived in this place, he was as rich as a duke or knight;

He had an only daughter, she was a beauty bright.

She says unto her father: "I will go this young man to see,
For before he went to college, he was a schoolboy along with me."

She was brought into a parlor, where she drank ale and wine;
She says:
You are a clever young man, I would have you resign.
What made you be a clergyman? you know you are astray,
For a clergyman must rise by night, and travel hard by day.

"Come take some noble lady whose fortune will be grand;
You will have men to wait on you, and be a gentleman.
Come, take myself now, as I stand; you know my fortune is
great;

I have ten thousand pounds a year, and, at a death, a whole estate."

FATHER TOM O'NEIL.-Continued.

The morning of his trial, it grieved our heart full sore
To see his tender mother; it grieved her ten times more
To see her son, a clergyman, his age about twenty-three,
To be cut down, in his prime, by cruel perjury.

Now, Tom, what is the reason you don't marry this fair?
I think she is a companion for a duke, I declare;

What are you but a widow's son, that is both poor and mean?
You might think it a great honor such a lady to obtain.

Then Father Tom stood up and said: I have no witness here,
I call on the Almighty, and He will make the clear;

I never said I would marry her, or make her my wife,
For I never knew a female from a man in all my life.

Now, Tom, as you won't marry her, I will give you to understand,
Seven long years' transportation into Van Diemen's Land;
That is bad, but it might be worse. Then Father Tom did say:
Our Saviour suffered more than that, when He died on Calvary.

These words were hardly spoken, when a horse came as swift as wind,

And on him came a rider, saying: I was not here in time;
I call that trial over again, I am here that can reply;

She wants two fathers for her child-that's Father Tom and I.

I can tell the very moment, likewise the very spot,
She gave me ten thousand pounds the night the child was got.
She said she would give me a thousand more-if I would not let

on;

She wants to make a husband of the Right Reverend Father Tom.

Then Father Tom put on his hat, and then began to smile;
He says unto his mother: You see how God assists your child;
They looked on one another, when they found her perjury;
The villain was found guilty, and his reverence came home free.

WHY CAN'T PADDY BE A GENTLEMAN?

BEING told Pat couldn't be a gentleman, I've set myself the task,
That I to-night the reason why of you my friends would ask;
Hasn't Ireland got her colleges, that have for centuries stood,
To teach the people-and you know their teaching's mighty good;
Haven't Irishmen got heads and hearts-by dad, I know they've

So.

Then why can't Paddy be a gentleman? That's what I want to know.

Some look down on an Irishman, as if they thought that we
Could not but helpless dolts or fools e'er have a hope to be.
What matters where a man is born. I see in Erin's isle
There's lots of native gentlemen to greet you with a smile;
For there's other kind of gentlemen, besides a dandy beau.
Then why can't Paddy be a gentleman? That's what I want to
know.

You cannot give the reason why, I see it in your face;
That Paddy's not a gentleman, because you know he is.
He's always good to help a friend, although his means are scant;
And if he's fond of blarney, he hates deceit and cant;

His coat may be of common frieze, his heart won't freeze-oh, no! Then why can't Paddy be a gentleman? That's what I want to know.

If an Englishman's a gentleman, oh, worrah, then it's true;
As Pat is John Bull's brother, then he must be one, too.
Just read the Irish history, and in that same you'll find,
Great deeds of Irish gentlemen-St. Patrick's one, d'ye mind;
And don't forget this-ye who sneer at honest Paddy's worth-
That actions make a gentleman, no matter what the birth.

THE BRIDE OF FALLOW.
"Twas dying they thought her,
And kindly they brought her
To the banks of Blackwater,

Where her forefathers lie;
'Twas the place of her childhood,
And they hoped that its wild wood
And air soft and mild would

Soothe her spirit to die.
But she met on its border
A lad who adored her-

No rich man, nor lord, or
A coward, or slave;
But one who had worn
A green coat, and borne
A pike from Slieve Mourne,

With the patriots brave.

Oh! the banks of the stream are

Than emeralds greener

And how should they wean her
From loving the earth?
While the song-birds so sweet,
And the waves at their feet,
And each young pair they meet,
Are all flushing with mirth.

And she listed his talk,
And he shared in her walk-
And how could she balk

One so gallant and true?
But why tell the rest?
Her love she confest,
And sunk on his breast

Like the even-tide dew.

Ah! now her cheek glows
With the tint of the rose,
And her healthful blood flows
Just as fresh as the stream;
And her eye flashes bright,
And her footstep is light,
And sickness and blight

Fled away like a dream.

And soon by his side
She kneels a sweet bride,
In maidenly pride

And maidenly fears;

And their children were fair; And their home knew no care, Save that all homesteads were Not as happy as theirs.

THE HARP THAT ONCE.

The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,

Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls,
As if that soul was fled.

So sleeps the pride of former days,

To glory's thrill is o'er,

And hearts that once beat high for praise,

Now feel that pulse no more.

No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells,

The chord alone that breaks at night
Its tale of ruin tells.

Thus freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives

Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still she lives.

The crowned heads of Europe, when you were in splendor,
Fain would they have you submit,

But the Goddess of Freedom soon bid them surrender,
And lowered the standard to your wit;

Old Frederick's colors in France you did bring,
Yet his offspring found shelter under your wing,
That year in Virginia you sweetly did sing.
Are you gone-will I never see you more?

That numbers of men are eager to slay you.
Their malice you viewed with a smile.
Their gold through all Europe they sowed to betray you,
And they joined the Mamelukes on the Nile.

Like ravens for blood their vile passion did burn,
The orphans they slew and caused the widow to mourn;
They say my linnet's gone and ne'er will return,
Is he gone will I never see him more?

When the trumpet of war the grand blast was sounding,
You marched to the north with good will,

To relieve the poor slaves in their vile sack clothing
You used your exertion and skill;

You spread out the wings of your envied train
While tyrants great Cæsar's old nest set in flame,

Their own subjects they caused to eat herbs on the plains,
Are you gone will I never see you more?

In great Waterloo, where numbers laid sprawling
In every field, high or low,

Fame on her trumpets true Frenchmen were calling,
Fresh laurels to place on her brow;
Usurper did tremble to hear the loud call,
The third old Babe's new buildings did fall,
The Spaniards their fleet in the harbor did call,
Are you gone-I will never see you more.

I'll roam thro' the deserts of wild Abyssinia,
And yet find no cure for my pain;

Will I go and inquire in the isle of St. Helena?
No, we will whisper in vain.

Tell me, you critics, now tell me in time,

The nation I will range my sweet linnet to find, Was he slain at Waterloo, on Elba, on the Rhine? If he was-I will never see him more.

THE STAR OF GLENGARY.

THE red moon is up o'er the moss-covered mountain,
The hour is at hand when I promised to rove

With the turf-cutter's daughter, by Logan's bright water,
And tell her how truly her Donald can love!

I ken there's the miller, with plenty o' siller,
Would fain win a glance, from her beautiful e'e—
She's my ain bonny Mary, the star of Glengary,

Keeps all her soft smiles and sweet kisses for me-
She's my ain bonny Mary, the star of Glengary,
Keeps all her soft smiles and sweet kisses for me.

'Tis long since we trod o'er the highlands together,
Two frolicsome bairns, gaily starting the deer;
When I called her my wee wife, my ain bonny wee wife,
And ne'er was sic joys as when Mary was there;
For she is a blossom I wear in my bosom,

A blossom I cherish and wear till I dee-
She's my ain bonny Mary, the star of Glengary,

She is health, she is wealth, and a gude wife to meShe's my ain bonny Mary, the star of Glengary,

She is health, she is wealth, and a gude wife to me.

MARY LE MORE.

As I strayed o'er the common on Cork's rugged border,
While the dewdrops of morn the sweet primrose arrayed;
I saw a poor female, whose mental disorder,

Her quick glancing eye and wild aspect betrayed.
On the sward she reclined, by the green fern surrounded,
At her side speckled daisies and wild flowers abounded;
To its inmost recesses, her heart had been wounded,
Her sighs were unceasing-'twas Mary Le More.

Her charms by the keen blasts of sorrow were faded, Yet the soft tinge of beauty still played on her cheek; Her tresses a wreath of primroses braided,

And strings of fresh daisies hung loose on her neck.