I'M NOT MYSELF AT ALL. Он, I'm not myself at all, Molly dear, Mo`ly dear, I'm not myself at all. Nothin' carin', nothin' knowin', Faith, your shadow 'tis I'm growin', And I'm not myself at all! But the half o' me is here, So give the other half to Molly Brierly.' Oh! I'm not myself at all! Oh, I'm not myself at all, Molly dear, Molly dear, My appetite's so small I once could pick a goose; Faith, my tightest coat is loose, And I'm not myself at all! If thus it is I waste, You'd betther, dear, make haste, Before your lover's gone away intirely; If you don't soon change your mind, Not a bit of me you'll find And what 'ud you think' o' that, Molly Brierly? Oh, I'm not myself at all! I'll be not myself at all, Molly dear, Molly dear, Till you my own I call! Since a change o'er me there came "Twould just come to the same; And 'twould simplify the matther intirely; So listen now to rayson, Molly Brierly; ELLEN BAWN. ELLEN BAWN-oh, Ellen Bawn, you darling-darling dear, you, Sit awhile beside me here, I'll die unless I'm near you! 'Tis for you I'd swim the Suir and breast the Shannon's waters; For, Ellen dear, you've not your peer in Galway's blooming daughters! Had I Limerick's gems and gold at will to mete and measure, Were Loughhrea's abundance mine, and all Portumna's treasure, These might lure me, might insure me many and many a new love, But oh! no bribe could pay your tribe for one like you, my true love! Blessings be on Connaught! that's the place for sport and raking! Ellen! I'd give all the deer in Limerick's parks and arbors, BOLD JACK DONAHOE. COME all you valiant highwaymen and outlaws of disdain, This bold, undaunted highwayman, as you understand he was, In Dublin city of renown, where his first breath he drew, Young Donahoe was taken in the middle of his prime, And before they arrived in Sydney safe, they lost bold Donahone. When he effected his escape he took to the highway, new, Concerning of that hero bold, they call Jack Donahoe. He had not been twelve months on the Australian shore, As Donahoe and his companions walked out one afternoon, Not thinking that pains of death it should effect so soon; The horse police they did advance all horrors to subdue, And in quick time they did advance to take Jack Donahoe. He said to his companions, If you prove true to me, Begone from me, you cowardly dogs, cried bold Jack Donahoe. If you would prove true to me, I would record your name, The people they will look on you with scorn and with shameFor to hang on the gallows tree I do not intend to do, So this day I'll fight with all my might, cried bold Jack Donahoe. THE POACHER.-Continued. "No rasher will I cook for you, While betther is to spare, sir, But here's a jug of mountain dew, And there's a rattlin' hare, sir." St. Pathrick he looked mighty sweet, And, says he, "Good luck attind you, And, when you're in your windin' sheet, It's up to heaven I'll sind you." O'Ryan gave his pipe a whiff- Them tidin's is thransportin'; But may I ax your saintship if There's any kind of sportin'?" St. Patrick said, "A lion's there, 46 Two bears, a bull, and cancer" 'Bedad," says Mick, the huntin's rare; Amid the constellations. Till Mars grows jealous raally, THE BELLS OF SHANDON. WITH deep affection and recollection I often think of those Shandon bells, Whose sound so wild would, in days of child. hood, Fling round my cradle their magic spells. On this I ponder, where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of With thy bells of Shandon, The pleasant waters of the river Lee. I've heard bells chiming full many a clime in, Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine; While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate, [thine; But all their music spoke nought like For memory dwelling on each proud swelling Of thy belfry knelling its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon, Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters of the river Lee. I've heard bells tolling "old Adrian's Mole" in, Their thunder rolling from the Vatican, And cymbals glorious, swinging uproarious In the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame: But thy sounds were sweeter, than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, pealing solemnly. Sound far more grand on and kiosko LAMENTATION OF JAMES RODGERS. COME all you tender Christians, I hope you will draw near, My name is James Rodgers-the same I never denied, My parents reared me tenderly, as you can plainly see, In bad houses and liquor I used to take delight, 1 might commit a murder, and hanged I would not be. Upon the fatal night, as you may plainly see, Mr. Swanton and his wife were passing through the street, I staggered up against them, and then he turned around, And demanded if the sidewalk had not enough of ground; It's then I drew the fatal knife and stabbed him to the heart, Which leaves the loving wife from her husband for to part. To Woodbridge then I quickly fled, thinking to escape, My trial came on quickly, and condemned I was to die, Farewell, my aged father! I ne'er will see you more, The morning of my execution was most heart-rending for to see, Saying: "My dear and loving brother, this day you are to die!" Thanks to the Sheriff for his kindness to me, My life is now ended-from this world I must part, WHEN I was young and in my prime, my age just twenty-one, I served him true and honest, and very well, it's known, For what he did banish me I mean to let you hear: I own I loved his daughter, and she loved me as dear. |