« 이전계속 »
IRELAND'S WELCOME. Do you mind the black night, when the pigs in the lane
AND Shamus, allhay, is it thrue, what they say, this news from Came grunting along to the gate where we the Parliament, stood ?
That all of my boys, my sojer boys, back home are to be sent? They all scampered in to keep out of the rain, Back home are to be sent, allhay, in shame and black disgrace, Then I asked you to have me, and you said For having, inside their scarlet coats, the heart of their grand old that you would.
race? But I left you, you know and I told you I'd go
CHORUS. To a country more beautiful, happy and free;
From my heart I say, God bless this day, Where I'd buy me a lot, and build me a cot,
My bouchal bawn machree;
Without penny or pack to tack to your back,
You're welcome home to me.
Troth, I have me the home with a big yara They'll be sorry and sore when you're not to the fore these danbefore,
gerous coming years, And a cow in the stable, a pig in the sty;
Oh, I forget, they're bairns yet, mush, see their volunteers; And at night when I'm smoking my pipe in And whin those bairns meet the foe, faith vic'tries will be scant, the door,
'Tis right enough, you're not the stuff, 'tis min wid legs they'll Och! the divil a king half so happy as I.
want, But what's a man's life when he's wanting a
From my heart I say, etc. wife? Faith! he's like an old ship with no rudder
Whin you, like a thraveling killin' machine, o'er land and say did at sea;
roam, So I'll heave out my rope with the anchor of hope,
Did it ever inther your mind at all, you'd have work to do at
home? And I'll wait till I'm married to Widow You'd have work to do at home, allhay, of the easiest, quarriest McGee.-CHORUS.
kind, THE LOW-BACKED CAR. Alanna machree, come hither to me- -there's somethin' in the wind.
From my heart I say, etc. WHEN first I saw sweet Peggy, 'Twas on a market day, A low-backed car she drove, and sat
In dark and in dawn, na bouchaleen bawn, they thried to coax Upon a truss of hay.
you away, And when the hay was blooming grass
Wid bounties, and medals, and dhrums, and fifes, and ribbons so And decked with flowers of spring,
bright and gay; No flower was there that could compare
Machree, I knew to me you'd be thrue, through thick and thin With the blooming girl I sing.
aich day; As she sat in her low-backed car,
For hearts so brave never beat in the slave who'd fight for nothThe man at the turnpike bar
ing but pay. Never asked for the toll,
From my heart I say, etc. But just rubbed his ould poll, And looked after the low-backed car. Did these wholesale despots think, allhay, they bought you out
and out In battle's wild commotion,
Whin they gave you a rag to cover your back, and a bit to put in The proud and mighty Mars
your mouth? With hostile scythes demands his tithes
They thought you'd forget alanna machree, for they spoke so Of death-in warlike cars.
smooth and fair, While Peggy, peaceful goddess, Has darts in her right eye,
How they rooted you out of house and home and left you starvThat knock men down in the market-town,
ing and bare.
From my heart I say, etc. As right and left they flyWhile she sits in her low-backed car,
The old home is in ruins now, 'twas the peelers, sure, pulled it Than battle more dangerous far,
down, For the doctor's art
And mother and Eileen they died that night in the snow going Cannot cure the heart
into the town; That is hit from that low-backed car.
In the old graveyard they are lying, allhay, above them the night Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,
wind moans, Has strings of ducks and geese,
Alanna machree, sure you'll thry to free the sod that covers But the scores of hearts she slaughters
their bones? By far outnumber these;
From my heart I say, etc. While she among her poultry sits Just like a turtle-dove,
In life there's nothing nobler than revenge for our martyr'd dead; Well worth the cage, I do engage,
To lighten the load of the hand oppressed, to give the hungry Of the blooming god of love!
bread; While she sits in the low-backed car, To strive for the poor, the plundered poor, with a brother's Her lovers come near and far,
strong, true hand, And envy the chicken
To march to the grand old music still, for God and our mother That Peggy is pickin'
land. As she sits in the low-backed car.
From my heart I say, etc.
THE LOW-BACKED CAR.--Continued. Oh, I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,
And a lady for my bride.
On a cushion made with taste,
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!
Oh, divil a bit can I tell ye now
CHORUS. Wid their tearing, daring, cursing, swearing, Scooting, looting, hooting, shooting; Whisky, potatoes, och, wigs on the green, Shillalahs were flying in ould Skibbereen.
LOVE IN REALITY.
AWAY with the nonsense of vain poetasters, Their sighing and dying's all lying and
fudge; They say love's a disease full of woes and dis
asters: I deny it, point-blank, and I think I'm a
Whn Larry the spalpeen, an' Tim tuk the floor,
Oh, begorra, the shouting an' tearing around,
For myself, I'm in love head and ears at the
present, With a maid like a young swan so graceful
and fair, And the symptoms I find, on the whole, very
pleasant, And just the reverse of what poets declare.
My head the next morning was just like a rattle,
I shed not a tear, and I ne'er think of sigh
ing; I moan not, I groan not, in fanciful woe; And if truth must be told, I am so far from
dying Of love but for love I'd have died long ago.
I'M PROUD I'M AN IRISHMAN'S SON.
LOVE IN REALITY.-Continued.
TERENCE'S FAREWELL TO KATHLEEN. If I stood 'neath a torrent, or plung'd in the
So, my Kathleen, you're going to leave me ocean,
All alone by myself in this place; I'd come out rather chilly and not over dry;
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? I'm not swollen out with grief till a long rope
You wouldn't forget your poor Terence, won't bind me;
You'll come back to old Ireland again. My mouth is more moist than the touch
Och, those English deceivers by nature, wood, no doubt;
Though maybe you'd think them sincere, And I'll give you my oath, that you never will
They'll say you're a sweet charming creature, find me
But don't you believe them, my dear. Drinking dry a deep lake to extinguish my
No, Kathleen, agra! don't be minding drought
The flattering speeches they'd make; I can tell night and day without making a
Just tell them a poor lad in Ireland blunder:
Is breaking his heart for your sake. A ship from a wherry, as well as the best;
It's a folly to keep you from going, And I know white from black, which you'll
Though, faith, it's a mighty hard case; say is a wonder,
For, Kathleen, you know, there's no knowing Despite all the love that is lodged in my
When next I shall see your sweet face. breast.
And when you come back to me, Kathleen, A mountain I never mistake for the ocean,
None the better off will I be then; A horse I can tell with great ease from a
You'll be spaking such beautiful English, deer,
Sure I won't know my Kathleen again. Of great things and small I've an excellent notion,
Aye, now where's the need of this hurry?
Don't flusther me so in this way; And distinguish a fly from a whale very clear.
I forgot 'twixt the grief and the flurry,
Every word I was meaning to say. And now, to conclude with a stiffish conun
Now just wait a minute, I bid yedrum
Can I talk if you bother me so? “ A part of the stern of a boat o'er the wave,
Oh, Kathleen, my blessing go wid you, Seven hazels whose barren twigs cast no fruit
Every inch of the way that ye go. under 'em." Is the name of the fair one who holds me
BRIDGET DONOHUE. a slave.
My name is Barney Blake, I'm a tearing Irish rake, Not one in a thousand that try will make out Considered by my neighbors very handy; of it
I was reared to the spade, but I learned the tailoring trade, The name of the maid most belov'd of my And think myself as good as John or Sandy; heart;
I work in first-class shops; I make clothes for swells and fops; And though love touch my brain, yet the sense I'm contented with my daily occupation; 'twon't take out of it,
I love a colleen rhue called Bridget Donohue, For I swear there's no poison or pain in his And she's the pride of all the Irish nation. dart.
Bridget Donohue, I've got my eye on you ; SAYS Patrick to Biddy, “Good mornin', me If you only marry Barney, you'll have no cause to rue; dear!
You're the apple of my eye, I'm your Irish cockatoo ; It's a bit av a sacret I've got for yer ear:
Mr. Cupid knocked me stupid for Bridget Donohue.
As she sat beside me at the wedding supper;
But my heart it melted like a lump of butter; And throws him a glance from her merry blue I asked her there and then if she'd have me for a man, eyes.
When she smiled on me as cute as any jailer
She said she would with pride! since then I'm satisfied, · Arrah, thin," cries Patrick, “ 'tis thinkin' av She loves none else but Barney Blake, the tailor.-CHORUS.
you That's makin' me heart-sick, me darlint, that's She's modest as she's mild: she's a dacent father's child, thrue!
And I'm longing for the day of our marriage;
But soon they'll find it's nothing but a failure. Shure me heart's not me own for this many a She wouldn't see me fooled : she's as pure as guinea goold day!
To her thumping, stumping, jumping Irish tailor.--CHORUS.
RORY O'MORE. “I gave it away to a good-lookin' boy, Who thinks there is no one like Biddy Malloy;
Young Rory O'More courted young Kathleen Bawn, So don't bother me, Pat; jist be aisy," says
He was bold as a hawk, and she soft as the dawn; she.
He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please, * Indade, if ye'll let me,
I will that!
And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.
“ Now, Kory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry, “ It's a bit of a flirt that ye are, on the sly;
Reproof on her lips, but a smile in her eye; I'll not trouble ye more, but I'll bid ye good- “With your tricks I don't know in troth what I'm aboutby.”
Faith! you've teased till I've put on my cloak inside out.”
" Oh, jewel," says Rory, that same is the way " Arrah, Patrick,” cries Biddy, "an' where You've tbrated my heart for this many a day; are ye goin'?
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure, Sure it isn't the best of good manners ye're For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.
showin' To lave me so suddint! Och, Biddy,” says “Indeed, then,” says Kathleen, “don't think of the like, Pat,
For 1 half gave a promise to soothering Mike; “ You have knocked the cock-feathers jist out The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound”av me hat!”
“ Faith,” says Rory, “ I'd rather love you than the ground.” “ Come back, Pat," says she. “ What fur, Now, hory, I'll cry if you don't let me go thin?
Sure I dream every night that I'm hating you so." “ Bekase I meant you all the time, sir! ” says " Oh!” says Rory, " that same I'm delighted to hear, she.
For dhrames always go by conthrairies, my dear;
Oh! jewel, keep dreaning that same till you die,
And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie.
Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More. The honest poor man, what's delayin' him, why?
Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teased me enough, Oh, the thrush might be dumb, and the lark And I've thrashed for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff; cease to carol,
And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste, Whin his music began to comether the sky. So, I think, after that, I may talk to the priest."
Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck, Three summers have gone since we've missed So soft and so white, without freckle or speck! you, O'Farrell,
And he looked in her eyes that were beaming with light; From the weddin' and patron, and fair on And he kissed her sweet lips-don't you think he was right? the green;
• Now, Rory, leave off, sir-you'll hug me no more-In an hour to St. John we'll light up the tar- There's eight times to-day that you've kissed me before.” barrel
Then here goes another," says he,“ to make sure But ourselves we're not flatter'n' that thin For there's luck in odd numbers,” says Rory O'More.
you'll be seen. O'Thady, we've watched and we've waited for
IRISH CASTLES. ever,
“Sweet Norah, come here, and look into the fire; To see your ould self steppin' into the town
Maybe in its embers good luck we might see; Wid your corduroys patched so clane and so
But don't come too near, or your glances so shining, clever,
Will put it clean out, like the sunbeams, machree! And the pride of a Guelph in your smile or “ Just look 'twixt the sods, where so brightly they're burning; your frown,
There's a sweet little valley, with rivers and trees,Till some one used say, “Here's Thady O'Far- And a house on the bank, quite as big as the squire's— rell;"
Who knows but some day we'll have something like these? And, “ God bless the good man! let's go meet him,” we cried
“And now there's a coach, and four galloping horses, And wid this from their play, and wid that
A coachman to drive, and a footman behind; from their quarrel,
That betokens some day we will keep a fine carriage, All the little ones ran to be first at your
And dash through the streets with the speed of the wind." side,
As Dermot was speaking, the rain down the chimney Soon amongst us you'd stand, wid the ould Soon quenched the turf-fire on the hollowed hearth-stone; people's blessin'
While mansion and carriage in smoke-wreaths evanished, As they lean'd from the door to look out at And left the poor dreamers dejected and lone.
you pass; Wid the colleen's kiss-hand, and the childer's
Then Norah to Dermot these words softly whisper'd, caressin',
• 'Tis better to strive, than to vainly desire; And the boys fightin' sure, which'd stand
And our little hut by the roadside is better your first glass.
Than palace, and servants, and coach-IN THE FIRE!” Thin you'd give us the news out of Cork and 'Tis years since poor Dermot his fortune was dreamingKillarney
Since Norah's sweet counsel effected its cure; Had O'Flynn married yet?-Was ould Mack For ever since then hath he toiled night and morning, still at work?
And now his snug mansion looks down on the Suir.
O'FARRELL THE FIDDLER.-Continued.
THE CALM AVONREE. Shine's political views-Barry's last bit of blarney
Bright home of my youth, my own sorrowing sireland,
My fond heart o erflows and the tears dim inine eyes,
When I think of thee, far-distant, beautiful Ireland,
And the dark seas between me and you, iny heart's prize. And when from the sight of our say-frontin' Oft-oft do I sigh for the days of my childhood, village
When I plucked the wild flow'rs on fair upland lea, The far-frownin' Blasquet stole into the Or roamed the long day thro' the sweet, shady wildwood, shade,
On the green, grassy banks of the calm Avonree. And the warnin' of night called up from the tillage
Ah, me! could I fly o'er the dark, swelling ocean, The girl wid her basket, the boy wid his To the home of my heart, to the land of my love, spade:
I'd be up on the wings with an exile's devotion,
And dare every danger the dark seas above. By the glowin' turf-fire, or the harvest moon's
Again would I roam thro' the fair, leafy bowers, glory, In the close-crowded ring that around you And I'd weave for my Kathleen a garland of flowers,
Where the boys used to drill ere I first crossed the sea ; we made, We'd no other desire than your heart-thrillin'
On the green, grassy banks of the calm Avonree. story, Or the song that you'd sing, or the tune that Again would I hear the wild thrush in his bower,
The loud-singing lark o'er the deep, mossy dell, you played.
And the blackbird's soft song on the tall, wild tower Till you'd ax, wid a leap from your seat in the That shadows the clear-springing, sweet “ Abbey well.” middle,
Once more would I hear the wild cuckoo's notes swelling, And a shuffle and slide of your foot on the Along the rich valley, o'er moorland and lea, floor,
And the blithe sparrow's chirp 'round my own peaceful dwelling, “ Will we try a jig-step, boys and girls, to the
On the green, grassy banks of the calm Avonree. fiddle?" “ Faugh a ballagh,” we cried, " for a jig, to But the day may yet come when I'll see thee soft smiling, be sure.”
And gaze on thee fondly, fair, beautiful land; For whinever you'd start jig or planxty so
I may yet live to see thro’ thy narrow glens filing,
The exiles now cast on a fair, foreign strand. merry, Wid their caperin’ twirls, and their rol. I may fight for thee, too, ere the trees again blossom, lickin' runs,
And see thee, my Erin, yet happy and free; Where's the heel or the heart in the kingdom And my heart may yet rest on thy soft, dewy bosom, of Kerry
In a green, grassy grave by the calm Avonree. Of the boys and the girls wasn't wid you at once ?
KATIE O'RYAN. So you'd tune wid a sound that arose as de. lightin'
On the banks of the Shannon, in darling old Ireland, As our old coleen's voice, so sweet and so Dwells a fair damsel, she's soon to be mine; clear,
She's a darling young creature and lovely in feature, As she coyly wint round, wid a curtsy invitin' I ne'er can can forget her! dear Katie O'Ryan.
The best of the boys for the fun to prepare. She's as fair as the dawn of the morning while beaming, For a minute or two, till the couples were oh! she's the dear little shamrock, I'm constantly dreaming
Her eyes soft, her lips like the ruby red wine; ready, On your shoulder and chin the fiddle lay
Of my own darling Katie, dear Katie O'Ryan. quiet; As our old colleen's voice, so sweet and so
She's the dear little shamrock, I'm constantly dreaming And a way we should spin to the left or the
Of my own darling Katie, dear Katie O'Ryan. right! Thin how Micky Dease forged steps was
I now have rov'd far to a land call'd America, wonder,
A home, Katie dear, for the honest and true; And well might our
women of Roseen be My heart saddens tho' when I think that I am proud
So far away from old Ireland, and Katie, from you. Such a face, such a grace, and her darlin' The winter is on, but I heed not its cold, dear, feet under,
The spring will bring flow'rs and joy to my heart; Like two swallows skimmin' the skirts of a Oh, for it's nearing the time when I'll bring my love out here, cloud!
Then in this free country our new lives we'll start. Thin, Thady, ochone! come back, for widout The fields here are green as they are in old Ireland, you
And all have their freedom to do what is right;
When the bright summer comes I will hasten, sure, back again, Huzzah! boys, huzzah! here's O'Farrell at Take your soft, tender hands gently in mine. Oh! last!
I'll never more leave you, but thro' life we'll wander, What an elegant płace,
Till death it will part me and Katie O'Ryan.