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, A low-backed car she drove, and sat And when the hay was blooming grass Never asked for the toll, But just rubbed his ould poll, The proud and mighty Mars Has darts in her right eye, That is hit from that low-backed car. Has strings of ducks and geese, 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, Without penny or pack to tack to your back, 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 want. From my heart I say, etc. Whin you, like a thraveling killin' machine, o'er land and say did Did it ever inther your mind at all, you'd have work to do at roam, home? You'd have work to do at home, allhay, of the easiest, quarriest kind, Alanna machree, come hither to me-there's somethin' in the wind. From my heart I say, etc. 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, For the lady would sit fornenst 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. OH, divil a bit can I tell ye now What happened to me at the wake o' me cow; CHORUS. Wid their tearing, daring, cursing, swearing, Whisky, potatoes, och, wigs on the green, Whn Larry the spalpeen, an' Tim tuk the floor, I can't tell entoirely how that row was fixed, Oh, begorra, the shouting an' tearing around, Then they blazed at me windows an' stritched out me sow My head the next morning was just like a rattle, Tho' we said we weren't foighting, he'd take no denial. 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, They may treat me with scorn and derision, When I think of the heroes old Ireland's produced, 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 teil with great ease from a deer, Of great things and small I've an excellent notion, And distinguish a fly from a whale very clear. And now, to conclude with a stiffish conun drum "A part of the stern of a boat o'er the wave, Seven hazels whose barren twigs cast no fruit under 'em." Is the name of the fair one who holds me a slave. TERENCE'S FAREWELL TO KATHLEEN. So, my Kathleen, you're going to leave me Full of illegant boys-oh, what then? Och, those English deceivers by nature, It's a folly to keep you from going, I forgot 'twixt the grief and the flurry, Can I talk if you bother me so? BRIDGET DONOHUE. My name is Barney Blake, I'm a tearing Irish rake, I was reared to the spade, but I learned the tailoring trade, I work in first-class shops; I make clothes for swells and fops; I love a colleen rhue called Bridget Donohue, CHORUS. Bridget Donohue, I've got my eye on you; If you only marry Barney, you'll have no cause to rue; At the wedding of Pat O'Hara I first met Bridget there, When she handed me my tay, I felt I cannot say, You would go from here to Spain to hear her sing "Napoleon's 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. 90 IRISH COQUETRY.-Continued. "I gave it away to a good-lookin' boy, "Indade, if ye'll let me, I will that!" he; says "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," Pat, "You have knocked the cock-feathers jist av me hat! "Come back, Pat," says she. "What "Bekase I meant you all the time, sir! RORY O'MORE. YOUNG Rory O'More courted young Kathleen Bawn, says out fur, O'FARRELL THE FIDDLER. rell? 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, From the weddin' and patron, and fair on the green; In an hour to St. John we'll light up the tar barrel But ourselves we're not flatter'n' that thin you'll be seen. O'Thady, we've watched and we've waited for 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 Thin you'd give us the news out of Cork and Had O'Flynn married yet?-Was ould Mack 66 66 'Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teased me enough. SWEET Norah, come here, and look into the fire; But don't come too near, or your glances so shining, "Just look 'twixt the sods, where so brightly they're burning; As Dermot was speaking, the rain down the chimney O'FARRELL THE FIDDLER.-Continued. Shine's political views-Barry's last bit of blarney And the boys you had met on their way to New York. And when from the sight of our say-frontin' village The far-frownin' Blasquet stole into the shade, And the warnin' of night called up from the tillage The girl wid her basket, the boy wid his spade: By the glowin' turf-fire, or the harvest moon's glory, In the close-crowded ring that around you we made, We'd no other desire than your heart-thrillin' story, Or the song that you'd sing, or the tune that you played. Till you'd ax, wid a leap from your seat in the middle, And a shuffle and slide of your foot on the floor, "Will we try a jig-step, boys and girls, to the fiddle? “Faugh a ballagh,” we cried, "for a jig, to 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 THE CALM AVONREE. BRIGHT home of my youth, my own sorrowing sireland, Ah, me! could I fly o'er the dark, swelling ocean, Again would I hear the wild thrush in his bower, 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, But the day may yet come when I'll see thee soft smiling, I may yet live to see thro' thy narrow glens filing, The exiles now cast on a fair, foreign strand. I may fight for thee, too, ere the trees again blossom, KATIE O'RYAN. On the banks of the Shannon, in darling old Ireland, She's a darling young creature and lovely in feature, CHORUS. She's the dear little shamrock, I'm constantly dreaming I now have rov'd far to a land call'd America, So far away from old Ireland, and Katie, from you. The spring will bring flow'rs and joy to my heart; The fields here are green as they are in old Ireland, And I'm thinking of none but you, darling, to-night. |