132

BRIDGET MOLLOY.

IN an ivy clad cabin there dwelt a colleen,
Fresh and fair as the goddess of morn,
In whose eyes full of witchery, roguish and dark,
Young cupids each moment were born.

In the village she reigned like a beautiful queen,
She was every one's treasure and joy,

And there was not a boy but would die for a smile
From the lips of sweet Bridget Molloy-

And there was not a boy but would die for a smile
From the lips of sweet Bridget Molloy.

When the birds in the springtime were choosing their mates,
Young Dermot won her virgin heart;

And they vowed as they stood hand in hand by the brook
There was nothing could tear them apart.

And they'd picture the time when united they'd be,
For a lifetime of love and joy;

And no happier lovers there ever was seen,
Than young Dermot and Bridget Molloy-
And no happier lovers there ever was seen,
Than young Dermot and Bridget Molloy.

When his hopes were the brightest misfortune came 'round,
And a boy couldn't well live at home,

So a pathway of fortune he tried to cut out,
For his love in a land o'er the foam.
"Heaven bless you, my Dermot asthore,

Your affections and faith will you buoy.

And may fortune to you be as constant and true
As the heart of your Bridget Molloy-
And may fortune to you be as constant and true
As the heart of your Bridget Molloy."

With a heart beating high he returned for his love,
He was fortunate over the wave,

But the form of his loved one was gone from his sight,
He was led to a newly made grave.

She left him a message, a lock of her hair,

With the words: "For my own darling boy!
And the hopes his life have been sunk in the grave
Of his own darling Bridget Molloy-

And the hopes of his life have been sunk in the grave
Of his own darling Bridget Molloy.

THE BANTRY GIRLS' LAMENT FOR JOHNNY.

Он, who will plow the field, or who will sell the corn?
Oh, who will wash the sheep, an' have 'em nicely shorn?
The stack that's on the haggard unthrashed it may remain,
Since Johnny went a-thrashing the dirty King o' Spain.

The girls from the bawnoge in sorrow may retire,

And the piper and his bellows may go home and blow the fire;
For Johnny, lovely Johnny, is sailin' o'er the main,
Along with other pathriarchs, to fight the King o' Spain.

The boys will sorely miss him, when Moneyhore comes round,
And grieve that their bould captain is nowhere to be found;
The peelers must stand idle, against their will and grain,
For the valiant boy who gave them work now peels the King o'
Spain.

At wakes or hurling-matches your like we'll never see,
Till you come back to us again, astore gra-gal-machree;
And won't you throunce the buckeens that show us much disdain,
Bekase our eyes are not so black as those you'll meet in Spain.

If cruel fate will not permit our Johnny to return,
His heavy loss we Bantry girls will never cease to mourn;
We'll resign ourselves to our sad lot, and die in grief and pain,
Since Johnny died for Ireland's pride in the foreign land of

Spain,

THE IRISHMEN OF TO-DAY.

I AM told every day that the Irish are fools
And degraded by every shame;

And that every effort they make for their
rights

Adds only disgrace to their name.
Murder is wrong and for vengeance 'twill cry,
To the zenith of heaven's great dome;
But how can a man see the ones that he loves
Just driven like dogs from their home?

CHORUS.

So don't form opinions until you know well

Who's to blame, and then what you say Will cast no reflection on true-hearted men,

The Irishmen of to-day.

I have seen sons and daughters of Irish descent,

Who would fain pass their old parents by, For maybe their clothes were not cut in the style.

Or their walk wasn't fair to the eye.
And perhaps their old father to educate them
Had spent all that hard labor gains;

To see them grow up to deny both his name
And the blood that sent life through their
veins.

TROTTIN' to the fair,
Me and Moll Malony,
Seated, I declare,

On a single pony-
How am I to know that

Molly's safe behind,
Wid our heads in, oh! that
Awk'ard way mclined?
By her gentle breathin'

Whispered past my ear,
And her white arms wreathin'
Warm around me here.
Trottin' to the fair,

Me and Moll Malony,
Seated, I declare,
On a single pony.

Yerrig Masther Jack,
Lift your forelegs higher,
Or a rousin' crack
Surely you'll require.
"Ah!"

says

Moll, "I'm frightened
That the pony'll start,"
And her hands she tightened

PATRIOTS OF IRELAND.

SONG OF THE IRISH EXILE.-Continued. Alone, all alone, by the wave-washed shore, My restless spirit cries

My love, oh, my love, will I never see you

more?

And my land! will you ever uprise?

By night and by day I ever pray,
While lonelily the time rolls on,

Now, friends, if you will listen, I will sing to you a song
Of Ireland and her sons we loved so dear;

There were patriots and heroes, and their names we love to hear,
For the green they were not afraid to wear.

There was one so young and noble, who for his country died,
To remember him the Irish won't forget;

To see our flag unrolled and my true love to Perhaps you've read his speeches in the Irish history,

You fool, had you been a marine in the army, You'd now have a pinsion and live on full pay.'

"But now I'm a cripple,-what signifies thinking?

The past I can never bring round to the fore;

The heart that with old age and weakness is sinking

Will ever find strength in good whisky galore.

Oagh, whisky, mavourneen, my joy and my jewel!

What signifies talking of doctors and pills? In sorrow, misfortune, and sickness so cruel, A glass of north country can cure all our ills.

"When cold in the winter it warms you so hearty;

When hot in the summer it cools you like ice;

In trouble, false friends, without grief I can part ye;

Good whisky's my friend, and I take its advice.

When hungry and thirsty, 'tis meat and drink

This hero's name was Robert Emmet.

CHORUS.

Then give three cheers for Ireland, and let the people see
That our rifles all are ready to set old Ireland free.

There's another I will mention, and to Irishmen most dear,
And for Ireland he proved a useful tool,

I mean Dan O'Connell, may his soul now rest in peace,
For dearly he loved Ireland and home rule.
There were three patriots to this world did bid good-by
Before they could finish their design;

They died hand in hand trying to free their native land-
Three martyrs, Allen, Larken and O'Brien.-CHORUS.

Now America had her heroes, and she loved them well, I'm sure,
Take the history and you'll know what they have done:
There was General Lafayette, Frenchman so true,
And our own immortal General Washington.

'Tis now one hundred years since the country they did free,
And drove the English tyrant from our shore-

I wish that every Irishman could have the same to say,
Then Ireland would be free for evermore.-CHORUS.

BARNEY MCCOY.

I AM going far away, Norah, darling,
And leaving such an angel far behind;
It will break my heart in two, which I fondly gave to you,
And no other one so loving, kind and true.

CHORUS.

Then come to my arms, Norah, darling,
Bid your friends in dear old Ireland good-by,
And it's happy we will be, in that dear land of the free,
Living happy with your Barney McCoy.

I would go with you, Barney, darling,
But the reason why I told you oft before:

It would break my poor mother's heart if from her I had to
part,

And go roaming with you, Barney McCoy.

I am going far away, Norah, darling,
But remember what I say, that until the judgment day,
Just as sure as there's a God that I adore,
You will never see your Barney any more.

I would go with you, Barney, darling,

If my mother and the rest of them were there,
For I know we would be blest in that dear land of the West,
Living happy with you, Barney McCoy.

I am going far away, Norah, darling,
And the ship is now anchored at the bay,
And before to-morrow you will hear the signal gun,
So be ready-it will carry us away.