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SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND.

A CUP O'TAY.

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

OCH! 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!

man.

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?
Shalalabs, 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.

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.

Ou! 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

FATHER TOM O'NEIL.

OHI THE MARRIAGE.-Continued. We meet in market and fair

We meet in the morning and night, He 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,

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.

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.

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.

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 foods 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 inirth 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,
Wearg 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
till pleading to heaven's bright shore.
Frish 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.

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 inust 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.”

He says: “My noble lady, do not explain your mind,
For if you offer ten times inore, I would not resign;
For in this holy station I mean to lead my life;
So say no more, my dearest dear, I will never take a wife."

It was when he did deny her, this villain, she came home,
And in eight weeks after, her secret she let know;
She swore before the magistrate, that he did her beguile;
And for four long weeks before she went to him, she was with

child.

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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.

Now Pat wasn't long to discover

That the widdy was wanting a lover ; He made love to her strong, and you'll say

he wasn't wrong, For in three days he wed the widdy

McCarty.

Their friends for to see them long

tarried ;

To bet Pat and the widdy they carried; She took up the stick that was cut for

Micky,
And under the bed shoved wooden Mc-

Carty.

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
Then why can't Paddy be a gentleman! That's what I want to

know.

In the mornin' when Paddy was risin'
He wanted somethin' to set the fire

blazin'; Says she: If you're in want of a stick, just

cut a slice off Micky, For I'm done with my wooden McCarty.

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PAT OF MULLINGAR.

They may talk of Flying Childers, and the speed of Harkaway,
Till the fancy it bewilders, as you list to what they say;
But for real bone and beauty, though to travel far and near,
The fastest mare you'll find belongs to Pat of Mullingar.

CHORUS

She can trot along, jog along, drag a jaunting car,
No day's so long, when set along with Pat of Mullingar.

She was bred in Connemara, and brought up at Castlemaine,
She won cups at the Curragh, the finest baste on all the plain;
All countries and conveyances she has been buckled to,
She lost an eye at Limerick and an ear at Waterloo.-Chorus.

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.

If a friend you wish to find, sir, I'll go wherever you want,
I'll drive you out of your mind, sir, or a little way beyont;
Like an arrow through the air if you ll step upon the car,
You'll ride behind the little mare of Pat of Mullingar.-CHORUS.

To Dallymount or Kingston, if the place you wish to see,
I'll drive you to the strawberry beds, it's all the same to me;
To Donnybrook, whose ancient air is famed for love or war,
Or, if you have the time to spare, we'll go to Mullingar.-CHORUS.

When on the road we're going, the other carmen try
(Without the darling knowing), to pass her on the sly;
Her one ear points up to the sky, she tucks her haunches in,
Then shows the lads how she can fly as I sit still and grin.-

CHORUS.

Then should yez want a car, sirs, I hope you'll not forget
Poor Pat of Mullingar, sirs, and his darlin' little pet;
She's gentle as the dove, sirs, her speed you can't deny,
And there's no blind side about her, tho' she hasn't got an eye.-

CHORUS.

THE GREEN LINNET.

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,
Aud 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.

CURIOSITY bore a young native of Erin

To view the gay banks of the Rhine, When an Empress he saw, and the robe she was wearing All over with diamonds did shine; A goddess in splendor was never yet scen To equal this fair one so mild and serene, In soft murmurs she says: My sweet linnet so green,

Are you gone-will I never see you more?

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 liarp 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 cold, lofty Alps you freely went over,

Which nature had placed in your way, That Marengo Saloney around you did hover,

And Paris did rejoice the next day;
It grieves me the hardships you did undergo,
Over mountains you traveled all covered with snow.
The balance of power your courage laid low,
Are you gone--will I never see you more!
The crowned heads of Europe, when you were in splendor,

Fain would they have you submit,
But the Goddess of Freedom soon tid 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 yer,

And they joined the Mamelukes on the Nile.

THE CROPPY BOY.

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!

“ GOOD men and true! in this house who

dwell, To a stranger bouchal, I pray you tell Is the Priest at home? or may he be seen ! I would speak a word with Father Green.”

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.

“ The Priest's at home, boy, and may be

seen; 'Tis easy speaking with Father Green; But you must wait till I go and see If the holy father alone may be.”

The youth has entered an empty hallWhat a lonely sound has his light footfall! And the gloomy chamber's chill and bare, With a vested Priest in a lonely chair.

The youth has knelt to tell his sins:
Nomine Dei,” the youth begins;
At " mea culpahe beats his breast,
And in broken murmurs he speaks the rest.

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.

“At the siege of Ross did my father fall,
And at Gorey my loving brothers all;
I alone am left of my name and race,
I will go to Wexford and take their place.

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'eShe'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.

“I cursed three times since last Easter

dayAt mass-time once I went to play; I passed the churchyard one day in haste, And forgot to pray for my mother's rest.

“I bear no hate against living thing; But I love my country above my King. Now, Father! bless me and let me go To die, if God has ordained it so."

'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 iny 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 me She's my ain bonny Mary, the star of Glengary,

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

The Priest said nought, but a rustling noise
Made the youth look up in wild surprise ;
The robes were off, and in scarlet there
Sat a yeoman captain with tiery glare.

With fiery glare and with fury hoarse, Instead of blessing he breathed a curse“ 'Twas a good thought, boy, to come here

and shrive, For one short hour is your time to live.

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.

"Upon yon river three tenders float,
The Priest's in one if he isn't shot-
We hold his house for our Lord the King,
And, amen say I, may all traitors swing !

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.

At Geneva Barrack that young man died, And at Passae they have his body laid. Good people who live in peace and joy, Breathe a prayer and a tear for the Croppy

Boy.

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