WIDOW MCGEE.-Continued.

Do you mind the black night, when the pigs in the lane

Came grunting along to the gate where we stood?

They all scampered in to keep out of the rain, Then I asked you to have me, and you said that you would.

But I left you, you know and I told you I'd go

To a country more beautiful, happy and free;

Where I'd buy me a lot, and build me a cot, And send to old Erin for Widow McGee.CHORUS.

Troth, I have me the home with a big yara

before,

THE LOW-BACKED CAR.

WHEN first I saw sweet Peggy,
'Twas on a market day,

A low-backed car she drove, and sat
Upon a truss of hay.

And when the hay was blooming grass
And decked with flowers of spring,
No flower was there that could compare
With the blooming girl I sing.
As she sat in her low-backed car,
The man at the turnpike bar

Never asked for the toll,

But just rubbed his ould poll,
And looked after the low-backed car.
In battle's wild commotion,

The proud and mighty Mars
With hostile scythes demands his tithes
Of death-in warlike cars.
While Peggy, peaceful goddess,

Has darts in her right eye,
That knock men down in the market-town,
As right and left they fly-
While she sits in her low-backed car,
Than battle more dangerous far,
For the doctor's art
Cannot cure the heart

That is hit from that low-backed car.
Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,

Has strings of ducks and geese,
But the scores of hearts she slaughters
By far outnumber these;
While she among her poultry sits
Just like a turtle-dove,

Well worth the cage, I do engage,

Of the blooming god of love!
While she sits in the low-backed car,
Her lovers come near and far,

And envy the chicken

That Peggy is pickin'

As she sits in the low-backed car.

IRELAND'S WELCOME.

AND Shamus, allhay, is it thrue, what they say, this news from the Parliament,

That all of my boys, my sojer boys, back home are to be sent? Back home are to be sent, allhay, in shame and black disgrace, For having, inside their scarlet coats, the heart of their grand old race?

CHORUS.

From my heart I say, God bless this day,
My bouchal bawn machree;

Without penny or pack to tack to your back,
You're welcome home to me.

They'll be sorry and sore when you're not to the fore these dangerous coming years,

And whin those bairns meet the foe, faith vic'tries will be scant,
Oh, I forget, they're bairns yet, mush, see their volunteers;
'Tis right enough, you're not the stuff, 'tis min wid legs they'll
From my heart I say, etc.

want.

88

THE LOW-BACKED CAR.-Continued.

Oh, I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,

Than a coach-and-four and gold galore,
And a lady for my bride.

For the lady would sit fornenst me
On a cushion made with taste,
And Peggy would sit beside me

With my arm around her waistWhile we drove in the low-backed car To be married by Father Maher.

Oh, my heart would beat high At her glance and her sigh, Though it beat in a low-backed car!

SKIBBEREEN.

Он, divil a bit can I tell ye now

What happened to me at the wake o' me cow;
There was Larry an' Patrick an' Jerry an' Tim,
And all the relayshuns, hooch, bad scan to thim.
They came in their thousands from valley and hill,
And broke the resource ov the whisky still,
That was the great fayture of Ballynahog,
With their lashuns an' drinkin's an' crying for grog.

CHORUS.

Wid their tearing, daring, cursing, swearing,
Scooting, looting, hooting, shooting;

Whisky, potatoes, och, wigs on the green,
Shillalahs were flying in ould Skibbereen.

Whn Larry the spalpeen, an' Tim tuk the floor,
An' hung up their hats on the back of the door;
Be jabers, said I, just for fun loike, to Pat;
"How's that for turnips," cried Larry, "take that!"
I took it, and then, for the rest of my loife,
I'll never forget the ructions and strife;

I can't tell entoirely how that row was fixed,
But all me relayshuns was pretty well mixed.-CHORUS.

Oh, begorra, the shouting an' tearing around,
The boys that were broke up an' stitched on the ground;
Pat tuk up the pavement an' pulled down the roof,
Then evicted me out by the power ov his hoof.
They broke up me meal-cask, they split the potteen,
Divil another such shindy was seen;

Then they blazed at me windows an' stritched out me sow
To await the last trump by the side of me cow.-CHORUS.

My head the next morning was just like a rattle,
Me oies and me nose both showed signs of the battle;
P. C. 92 took us up for our thrial,

Tho' we said we weren't foighting, he'd take no denial.
Poor Tim got a fortnit, we all got a week;
The judge said, "Be aisy, ye've had a bad squeak,
But if iver the boys an' yourself want a row,
Don't let it occur at the wake of a cow."-CHORUS.

I'M PROUD I'M AN IRISHMAN'S SON.

IF I was a son of old England

I'd praise the dear land of my birth;

If the mountains of Scotland had brought me to light
I'd cherish their beauty and worth;
But my ehart beats fondly for old Ireland,
And the glorious deeds she has done,
'Till the day I die I'll hold my head high,
For I'm proud I'm an Irishman's son.

CHORUS.

So I'll think with a smile of the Emerald Isle,
I'll remember the deeds she has done;
While my heart is unfurled I'll say to the world,
I'm proud I'm an Irshman's son.

They may treat me with scorn and derision,
They may bring the hot tear in my eye,
They may say with a sner when employment I seek,
That an Irishman need not apply.

When I think of the heroes old Ireland's produced,
And the glorious deeds they have done,
I'll still play my part, and I'll say from my heart,
I'm proud I'm an Irishman's son.-CHORUS.

LOVE IN REALITY.-Continued.

If I stood 'neath a torrent, or plung'd in the

ocean,

I'd come out rather chilly and not over dry; If robust health and strength can cause death, I've a notion

I'm just in the very condition to die.

I'm not swollen out with grief till a long rope won't bind me;

My mouth is more moist than the touchwood, no doubt;

And I'll give you my oath, that you never will find me

Drinking dry a deep lake to extinguish my drought.

I can tell night and day without making a blunder:

A ship from a wherry, as well as the best; And I know white from black, which you'll say is a wonder,

Despite all the love that is lodged in my breast.

A mountain I never mistake for the ocean, A horse I can tell with great ease from a deer,

Of great things and small I've an excellent

TERENCE'S FAREWELL TO KATHLEEN.

So, my Kathleen, you're going to leave me
All alone by myself in this place;
But I'm sure you will never deceive me,
Oh, no! if there's truth in that face.
Though England's a beautiful city,

Full of illegant boys-oh, what then?
You wouldn't forget your poor Terence,
You'll come back to old Ireland again.

Och, those English deceivers by nature,
Though maybe you'd think them sincere,
They'll say you're a sweet charming creature,
But don't you believe them, my dear.
No, Kathleen, agra! don't be minding
The flattering speeches they'd make;
Just tell them a poor lad in Ireland
Is breaking his heart for your sake.

It's a folly to keep you from going,
Though, faith, it's a mighty hard case;
For, Kathleen, you know, there's no knowing
When next I shall see your sweet face.
And when you come back to me, Kathleen,
None the better off will I be then;
You'll be spaking such beautiful English,
Sure I won't know my Kathleen again.
Aye, now where's the need of this hurry?
Don't flusther me so in this way;

I forgot 'twixt the grief and the flurry,
Every word I was meaning to say.
Now just wait a minute, I bid ye-

Can I talk if you bother me so?
Oh, Kathleen, my blessing go wid you,
Every inch of the way that ye go.

BRIDGET DONOHUE.

My name is Barney Blake, I'm a tearing Irish rake,
Considered by my neighbors very handy;

I was reared to the spade, but I learned the tailoring trade,
And think myself as good as John or Sandy;

I work in first-class shops; I make clothes for swells and fops;
I'm contented with my daily occupation;

I love a colleen rhue called Bridget Donohue,
And she's the pride of all the Irish nation.

CHORUS.

Bridget Donohue, I've got my eye on you;

If you only marry Barney, you'll have no cause to rue; You're the apple of my eye, I'm your Irish cockatoo; Mr. Cupid knocked me stupid for Bridget Donohue.

At the wedding of Pat O'Hara I first met Bridget there,
As she sat beside me at the wedding supper;
When she handed me my tay, I felt I cannot say,
But my heart it melted like a lump of butter;
I asked her there and then if she'd have me for a man,
When she smiled on me as cute as any jailer-
She said she would with pride! since then I'm satisfied,
She loves none else but Barney Blake, the tailor.-CHORUS.
She's modest as she's mild; she's a dacent father's child,
And I'm longing for the day of our marriage;

You would go from here to Spain to hear her sing "Napoleon's
Dream,"

And at dancing she's got a lovely carriage. The other boys may try to put out Barney's eye,

But soon they'll find it's nothing but a failure. She wouldn't see me fooled; she's as pure as guinea goold To her thumping, stumping, jumping Irish tailor.-CHORUS.

IRISH COQUETRY.-Continued.

"I gave it away to a good-lookin' boy, Who thinks there is no one like Biddy Malloy; So don't bother me, Pat; jist be aisy," says she.

"Indade, if ye'll let me, I will that!" says he;

"It's a bit of a flirt that ye are, on the sly; I'll not trouble ye more, but I'll bid ye goodby."

"Arrah, Patrick," cries Biddy, "an' where are ye goin'?

Sure it isn't the best of good manners ye're showin'

To lave me so suddint!" "Och, Biddy," says Pat,

"You have knocked the cock-feathers jist

av me hat!

out

"Come back, Pat," says she. "What fur, thin? says he.

"Bekase I meant you all the time, sir! says she.

The honest poor man, what's delayin' him, why? Oh, the thrush might be dumb, and the lark cease to carol,

Whin his music began to comether the sky. Three summers have gone since we've missed you, O'Farrell,

66

RORY O'MORE.

YOUNG Rory O'More courted young Kathleen Bawn, He was bold as a hawk, and she soft as the dawn; He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please, And he thought the best way to do that was to tease. Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry, Reproof on her lips, but a smile in her eye; "With your tricks I don't know in troth what I'm aboutFaith! you've teased till I've put on my cloak inside out." "Oh, jewel," says Rory," that same is the way You've thrated my heart for this many a day; And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure, For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More. "Indeed, then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like, For 1 half gave a promise to soothering Mike; The ground that i walk on he loves, I'll be bound ""Faith," says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground." Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go—

Sure I dream every night that I'm hating you so."

Oh!" says Rory, that same I'm delighted to hear, For dhrames always go by conthrairies, my dear; Oh! jewel, keep dreaming that same till you die, And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie. And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure, Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.

From the weddin' and patron, and fair on the green;

In an hour to St. John we'll light up the

barrel-

But ourselves we're not flatter'n' that you'll be seen.

thin

O'Thady, we've watched and we've waited forever,

To see your ould self steppin' into the town

Wid your corduroys patched so clane and so clever,

And the pride of a Guelph in your smile or your frown.

Till some one used say, "Here's Thady O'Farrell;"

And," God bless the good man! let's go meet him," we cried

And wid this from their play, and wid that from their quarrel,

All the little ones ran to be first at your side.

Soon amongst us you'd stand, wid the ould people's blessin'

As they lean'd from the door to look out at you pass;

Wid the colleen's kiss-hand, and the childer's caressin',

And the boys fightin' sure, which'd stand your first glass.

Thin you'd give us the news out of Cork and Killarney

Had O'Flynn married yet?-Was ould Mack still at work?—

"SWEET Norah, come here, and look into the fire;
Maybe in its embers good luck we might see;
But don't come too near, or your glances so shining,
Will put it clean out, like the sunbeams, machree!
"Just look 'twixt the sods, where so brightly they're burning;
There's a sweet little valley, with rivers and trees,-
And a house on the bank, quite as big as the squire's-
Who knows but some day we'll have something like these?
"And now there's a coach, and four galloping horses,
A coachman to drive, and a footman behind;
That betokens some day we will keep a fine carriage,
And dash through the streets with the speed of the wind.”
As Dermot was speaking, the rain down the chimney
Soon quenched the turf-fire on the hollowed hearth-stone;
While mansion and carriage in smoke-wreaths evanished,
And left the poor dreamers dejected and lone.
Then Norah to Dermot these words softly whisper'd,-
""Tis better to strive, than to vainly desire;
And our little hut by the roadside is better

lickin' runs,

Where's the heel or the heart in the kingdom of Kerry

Of the boys and the girls wasn't wid you at once?

So you'd tune wid a sound that arose as delightin'

As our old coleen's voice, so sweet and so clear,

As she coyly wint round, wid a curtsy invitin' The best of the boys for the fun to prepare. For a minute or two, till the couples were ready,

On your shoulder and chin the fiddle lay quiet;

As our old colleen's voice, so sweet and so steady,

And away we should spin to the left or the right!

Thin how Micky Dease forged steps was a wonder,

And well might our women of Roseen be proud

Such a face, such a grace, and her darlin' feet under,

Like two swallows skimmin' the skirts of a

cloud!

THE CALM AVONREE.

BRIGHT home of my youth, my own sorrowing sireland,
My fond heart o erflows and the tears dim mine eyes,
When I think of thee, far-distant, beautiful Ireland,
And the dark seas between me and you, my heart's prize.
Oft-oft do I sigh for the days of my childhood,

When I plucked the wild flow'rs on fair upland lea,
Or roamed the long day thro' the sweet, shady wildwood,
On the green, grassy banks of the calm Avonree.

Ah, me! could I fly o'er the dark, swelling ocean,
To the home of my heart, to the land of my love,
I'd be up on the wings with an exile's devotion,
And dare every danger the dark seas above.
Again would I roam thro' the fair, leafy bowers,
And I'd weave for my Kathleen a garland of flowers,
Where the boys used to drill ere I first crossed the sea;
On the green, grassy banks of the calm Avonree.

Again would I hear the wild thrush in his bower,
The loud-singing lark o'er the deep, mossy dell,
And the blackbird's soft song on the tall, wild tower

That shadows the clear-springing, sweet "Abbey well." Once more would I hear the wild cuckoo's notes swelling, Along the rich valley, o'er moorland and lea,

And the blithe sparrow's chirp 'round my own peaceful dwelling,
On the green, grassy banks of the calm Avonree.

But the day may yet come when I'll see thee soft smiling,
And gaze on thee fondly, fair, beautiful land;

I

I

may yet live to see thro' thy narrow glens filing, The exiles now cast on a fair, foreign strand.

may fight for thee, too, ere the trees again blossom, And see thee, my Erin, yet happy and free; And my heart may yet rest on thy soft, dewy bosom, In a green, grassy grave by the calm Avonree.

KATIE O'RYAN.

ON the banks of the Shannon, in darling old Ireland,
Dwells a fair damsel, she's soon to be mine;

She's a darling young creature and lovely in feature,
I ne'er can can forget her! dear Katie O'Ryan.
She's as fair as the dawn of the morning while beaming,
Oh! she's the dear little shamrock, I'm constantly dreaming
Her eyes soft, her lips like the ruby red wine;
Of my own darling Katie, dear Katie O'Ryan.

CHORUS.

She's the dear little shamrock, I'm constantly dreaming
Of my own darling Katie, dear Katie O'Ryan.

I now have rov'd far to a land call'd America,
A home, Katie dear, for the honest and true;
My heart saddens tho' when I think that I am

So far away from old Ireland, and Katie, from you.
The winter is on, but I heed not its cold, dear,

The spring will bring flow'rs and joy to my heart;
Oh, for it's nearing the time when I'll bring my love out here,
Then in this free country our new lives we'll start.

The fields here are green as they are in old Ireland,
And all have their freedom to do what is right;
Ah! Katie, l'e seen pretty girls by the thousand,

And I'm thinking of none but you, darling, to-night.
When the bright summer comes I will hasten, sure, back again,
Take your soft, tender hands gently in mine. Oh!
I'll never more leave you, but thro' life we'll wander,
Till death it will part me and Katie O'Ryan.