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FLAMING O'FLANAGANS.-Continued.

The tazing, the cursing, the shouting, the shooting,
The clattering of glasses-the breaking of skulls-
The dancing would sure be upon the best footing,

Wid Irish Miss Murphys and English Miss Bulls.
The neat little party you'd like to see revel,

The loves and the whisky, and the devil knows what; And the dances that we whacked black and blue like the devil, And the spalpeens we floored at the very first shot.

O'Brien he went through the world without lying,

And he beat the Danes, a whole score of them flat;
And faix, after that, the old Danes beat O'Brien,
And he died victorious, more glory for Pat.
Ever since that, the brave flaming O'Flanagans

Have fought in each battle, all the way round;
From Kilrush to Kilkenny, and all the way back again,
The blood of O'Flanagans covers the ground.

Do you see how I'm laughed at by all those queer vagabones,
Shouting and screaming twice as loud as they can?
Paddy Flynn, I go bail, I'll give you a sore bag of bones
If you'll only come here and turn out like a man.
Do ye's think I'll stop here until morning, diverting ye's
While me nate jug of punch is cooling outside?
Good night, boys, you know I'm sorry from parting ye's,
But the love of the whisky was always me pride.

MOLLY MULDOON.

SWEET jewel, my heart has gone out of my keepin',

An' I am wantin' it back wid a slice of your own; For I drame through the night, when I ought to be sleepin', Ov the purtiest girl in the country of Tyrone.

'Tis yourself, an' you know it, more shame you won't show it, But I'll list by my faith for a dashing dragoon,

If you don't quit your jokin', which is more than provokin',
And pity my love for you, Molly Muldoon.

There's Shusey Magee, drinks her tay out of chaney,
Her father, the drover, has money in store;
An' Kitty McKenna, that plays the pianna,

An', troth, if I liked-no, I needn't say more.
But little I care for themselves or their riches;

An' the music you'd make wid your nogginan' spoon, Would be sweeter to me if I slept in the ditches,

An' scraped the same pot wid you, Molly Muldoon. Och! Molly, achorra, don't kill me wid sorrow,

I'm awake on my feet wid the weight of my woes, My shouldin's neglected an' famine expected,

My plow in the meadow a roost for the crows. An' little it matters, my poor heart in tatters,

For a corpse on the board I'll be stretched for you soon; Or wid ribbons all flyin', I'll laugh while you're cryin', Then wed where you will, cruel Molly Muldoon. I've a heart true an' tender to love you forever, Five cows an' a cowlt, an' a guinea to spare; Not to mention my faction, the soul of a ruction, Mayrone can't they scatter the fun ov a fair. But long-legged Mullen and crooked-eyed Cullen, They brag of your smiles, but I'll alter their tone; For there's murther a-brewin' an' all of your doin', I'm losin' my sowl for you, Molly Muldoon.

But I don't care a rap if I never see glory,

He's not in shoe leather who'll take you from me;
An' for all your sweet schamin' the end of the story
Will tell in my favor, a calleen machree.

For I know in your heart there's a spark for me burnin',
No schamin' can smother, so whisper aroon;

'Tis a fortnight to Lent, an' you'll never repent,
If we're one for the ashes, sweet Molly Muldoon.

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PROUDLY the note of the trumpet is sounding,
Loudly the war-cries arise on the gale;
Fleetly the sted of Loc Suilig is bounding,
To join the thick squadrons in Saimear's
green vale.

On, every mountaineer,
Strangers to flight and fear,

Rush to the standard of dauntless Red
Hugh!

Bonnought and Gallowglass,

Throng from each mountain pass, On for old Erin-O'Donnell abu!

Princely O'Neill to our aid is advancing

With many a chieftain and warrior-clan; A thousand proud steeds in his vanguard are prancing

'Neath the borders brave from the banks of
The Bann.

Many a heart shall quail
Under its coat of mail,

Deeply the merciless tyrants shall rue;
When on his ear shall ring,
Borne on the breeze's wing,
Tyrconnell's dread war-cry-O'Donnell abu!
Wildly o'er Desmond the war-wolf is howling,
Fearless the eagle sweeps ocer the plain;
The fox in the streets of the city is prowling,
All-all who could scare them are banished
or slain.

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Grasp, every stalwart hand,

Hackbut and battle-brand,

OULD IRELAND SO GREEN.

MICKEY DOOLAN was one of them boys as went fighting,
There was meetin's of factions, and rowin's and ructions;
And breaking of skulls on St. Patrick's Day;
Aud murderous deeds-ah! the devil to pay!
He went armed wid an illigant sprig of shillalah.
Says Biddy, his wife, "Is it fightin' ye mean?"
Says Mickey, "Don't bother-go home to your mother;
I'm going out to fight for ould Ireland so green."

CHORUS.

There's Billy O'Mulligan, Jimmy O'Sullivan,
Barney O'Toole and Johnny Mackay;

And Bobby O'Ryan and Shemus O'Brien,
Goin' fightin' and tearin'-it's St. Patrick's Day.

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Well, we meets Danny Looran, and says to him: " Danny,
Have ye come out to fight for the Queen or the Pope?'
Says Dan, It don't matter, for both or for either,
So long as I fight, that's sufficient, I hope!"
Says Mick, "That'll do," and wid a shout of "Hurroo!"
He jumped on Dan's coat and smashed his caubeen;
And they nearly got murdered, but each of them knew,
That he fought for his country-old Ireland so green.-CHORUS.

When they'd done with each other, they sat down to rest,
And they felt that they both a good action had done;
They'd fought for their country and bled for their homes,
And nearly got murdered and relished the fun!
Then they both went together to fight side by side,

And they met Larry Moore walking calm and serene;
So they broke in his skull, and knocked in his teeth,
And jumped on his chest-for ould Ireland so green.-CHorus.

Well, they got in a tangle and hit right and left,
And smashed at each other-the blood flowed galore;
And Danny hit Larry, and Larry hit Danny,

And Michael from both of them made the blood pour!
Then they all fell at once, and they sprawled on the ground,
Both Danny and Larry and Michael between;
But they wouldn't let go, so they all went together,

And rolled in a ditch-for ould Ireland so green.-CHORUS.

Now some more sons of Erin were fighting for freedom,
As they rowled in the ditch, heard them patriots cry;

Pay them all back the deep debt so long But they oon fished 'em out, and for love of Home Rule, boys,

due;

Norris and Clifford well

Can of Tir-Conaill tell

Onward to glory-O'Donnell abu!

Sacred the cause that Clan-Conaill's defending,
The altar we kneel at, and homes of our
sires;

Ruthless the ruin the foe is extending,
Midnight is red with the plunderers' fires.
On with O'Donnell then,

Fight the old fight again,

They gave 'em a thrashin' before they were dry!
Then they all at once felt as they wanted some liquor,
So away they went to a whisky shebeen;

And they murdered the keeper and smoked his tobaccy,
nd emptied the till for ould Ireland so green.-CHORUS.

They'd just one more scrimmage before they wor partin',
And there wasn't so many got off with their lives;
But them as wor left of them true sons of Erin,
Arrived safely home and pitched into their wives,

Sons of Tir-Conaill, all valiant and true; Danny Looran forgot where he left his right eyeball,
Make the false Saxon feel

Erin's avenging steel,

Strike for your country-O'Donnell abu!

And Larry Moore's face wasn't fit to be seen,

And Mickey wor tired, and wouldn't go walking,

So rode home on a shutter for ould Ireland so green.-CHORUS.

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PADDY MAGEE'S DREAM.

JOHN BULL he was an Englishman,
And went to tramp one day,
With three-pence in his pocket
To take him a long way;

He tramped along for miles and miles,
Yet no one did he see,

Till he fell in with an rishman,
Whose name was Paddy Magee.

Good morning, Pat, said John to him,
Where are you going to?
Says Paddy: I hardly know myself,
I want a job to do.

Have you got any money about you?
Said John Bull unto Pat.

Says Pat: It's the only thing I'm wanting, For I haven't got a rap.

Then they overtook a Scotchman,

Who, like them, was out of work;
To judge by his looks, he was hard up
And as hungry as a Turk.

Can you lend me a shilling, Scotty?
At last said Paddy Magee.
I'm sorry I canna, said the Scotchman,
For I ha'e na got ane baubee.

Said the Englishman, I three-pence have,
What shall we do with that?
Och! buy three-pen'orth of whisky,
It will cheer us up, said Pat.
Nay, dinna do that, said the Scotchman,
I'll tell thee the best to do;

Just buy three-pence worth of oat-meal,
I'll make some nice burgoo.

Now I think we had better buy a loaf,
The Englishman did say;
And then in yonder hay-stack
Our hunger sleep away.
We can get a drink of water

From yonder purling stream,

And the loaf shall be his in the morning, Who has the greatest dream.

The Englishman dreamt by the morning,
Ten million men had been

For ten years digging a turnip up,
The largest ever seen;

At last they got the turnip up,
By working night and day;
Then it took five million horses
This turnip to pull away.

Said the Scotchman: I've been dreaming
Fifty million men had been

For fifty years making a boiler,
The largest ever seen.

What was it for? said the Englishman,
Was it made of copper or tin?

It was made of copper, said Scotty,
To boil your turnip in.

Och! said Paddy, I've been dreaming
An awful great big dream;

I dreamt I was in a hay-stack,
By the side of a purling stream,

I dreamt that you and Scotty was there,

As true as I'm an oaf;

By the powers! I dreamt I was hungry, So I got up and eat the loaf.

PADDY MILES.-Contiuued.

I worked in the bogs and behaved, as I thought,
From my master, Mick Flynn, a character brought;
But it done me no good, and I thought that was odd,
So I made up my mind for to leave the ould sod.
For the devil a wan would employ me.
The girls there they would annoy me;
They threatened at once to destroy me,
All bekase I was called Paddy Miles.

Who cut off one of the tails of Pat Flanigan's coat?
And who broke the left horn of Ned Shaughnessy's goat?
Who through the back door to the chapel got in,

And drank all the wine, blood and ounds, what a sin!
Who half-murdered a poorhouse inspector?
And fired at a police detector;

When Miss Fagan, they tried to eject her?
Who was it, but you, Paddy Miles?

I trotted to Dublin to look for a place,

Tho' they'd ne'er saw me there, faix, they all knew my face; The jackeens kept calling meself to annoy,

There goes Paddy Miles, he's a Limerick boy!

Till I flourished my sprig of shillelah,
And smattered their gobs so genteelly;
When the blood it began to flow freely,
Said I, How do you like Paddy Miles?

In short, before long to this country I came,
And found Paddy Miles here was the same;

If my name wasn't changed I was likely to starve,
For bad luck to the master could I sarve.

So Paddy O'Connor it is made, sir,
An' if you wish to get a smart blade, sir,
Be me soul, then, you need not be afraid, sir,
For to hire me-I'm not Paddy Miles.

THE EXILES OF ERIN.

GREEN were the fields where my forefathers dwelt,
O! Erin, mavourneen, slan leat go brah!
Though our farm was small, yet comforts we felt,
O! Erin, mavouneen, slan leat go brah!
At length came the day when our lease did expire,
And fain would I live where before lived my sire;
But ah! well-a-day! I was forced to retire,

O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!
Though the laws I obeyed, no protection I found,
O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!
With what grief I beheld my cot burned to the ground,
O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!
Forced from my home-yea, from where I was born,
To range the wide world-poor, helpless, forlorn;

I look back with regret, and my heart strings are torn,

O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!

With principles pure, patriotic and firm,

O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!

To my country attached, and a friend to reform,

O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!

I supported old Ireland-was ready to die for it,

If her foes c'er prevailed I was ell known to sigh for it;
If her foes e'er prevailed I was well known to sigh for it;
O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!

But hark! I hear sounds, and my heart is strong beating,
O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!
Loud cries for redress, and avaunt on retreating,
O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!

We have numbers, and numbers do constitute pow'r-
Let us will to be free-and we're free from that hour;
Of Hibernia's brave sons, oh! we feel we're the flower-
Bole yudh, mavourneen! Erin go brah!

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FLAG OF OUR LAND.

LANIGAN'S BALL.-Continued.

Myself, of course, got free invitations

For all the nice boys and girls I'd ask, And in less than a minute the friends and relations

Were dancing away like bees round a cask. Miss O'Hara, the nice little milliner,

Tipped me the wink to give her a call,

And soon I arrived with Timothy Glenniher
Just in time for Lanigan's ball.

FLAG of our Land, that oft has streamed through battle's lurid blaze and smoke,

When the long ranks were wrapped in flame, and in the shock the legions broke,

Flag of our Land! for you, for us they say the sun of hope has set, We give them back the craven lie! we're shattered, but not beaten yet.

There was lashins of punch and wine for the The Norman trampled on your folds, the Norman trampled on us, ladies,

Potatoes and cakes and bacon and tay,
The Nolans and Doolans and all the O'Gradys
Were courtin' the girls and dancin' away.
Songs there were as plenty as water,

From "The Harp that once thro' Tara's
ould Hall,"

To "Sweet Nelly Gray" and "The Ratcatcher's Daughter,"

All singing together at Lanigan's ball.

They were startin' all sorts of nonsensical dances.

Turning around in a nate whirligig;

But Julia and I soon scatthered their fancies, And tipped them the twist of a rale Irish jig.

Och mavrone! 'twas she that as glad o' me; We danced till we thought the ceilin' would fall

(For I spent three weeks in Burke's Academy Learning a step for Lanigan's ball).

too;

And Saxon hate and native guile did all the wreck that Hell could do.

Not coward-like, but wild for fight, have we and they in conflict met,

We've borne the loss for centuries; repulsed, but never beaten yet.

This isle is ours, its plains and hills, from center to the utmost sea,

We tread its soil, we speak its tongue, we dearly pray to see it free.

Patience and faith shall do the work, and earnestness shall win the debt;

Hark you who still have hearts to toil; we're scattered, but not beaten yet.

While in this Irish Land there lives the spirit of an Irish race, The pluck that smiles at worst reverse and meets disaster face to face,

By Heaven and all the shining stars, around the throne of Godhead set,

The boys were all merry, the girls were all The future teems with hope for us; we're watchful, but not beaten hearty,

Dancin' away in couples and groups,
When an accident happened-young Terence

McCarty

He put his right foot through Miss Halloran's hoops.

The creature she fainted, and cried "Millia murther!"

She called all her friends and gathered them

all.

Ned Carmody swore he'd not stir a step further,

But have satisfaction at Lanigan's ball.

In the midst of the row Miss Kerrigan fainted

Her cheeks all the while were as red as the

rose

Some of the ladies declared she was painted,

She took a small drop of potheen, I suppose.
Her lover, Ned Morgan, so pow'rful and able,
When he saw his dear colleen stretched out
by the wall,

He tore the left leg from under the table
And smashed all the china at Lanigan's ball.

Oh, boys, there was the ructions

Myself got a lick from big Phelim McHugh, But I soon replied to his kind introductions, And kicked up a terrible hullabaloo.

Old Shamus the piper had like to be strangled,

They squeezed up his pipes, bellows, chanters and all;

The girls in their ribbons they all got entangled,

And that put an end to Lanigan's ball.

yet.

"Perish the past!" the patriot cried; ay, let the mournful ages

go,

With bitter feud, the curse of hate, they've made our heritage of

woe.

Into the darkness of our doom a ray of nobler glory let;
Seize fast the present; years to come they'll swear we were not
beaten yet.

Down with the feuds of vanished years, tney waste our breath, they break our strength;

A nobler creed, a nobler life, 'tis ours to preach and fill at length. Flag of our Land, float high and fair; they lie who say our sun has set;

God and the future still are ours; we live, and are not beaten yet.

THE FELON'S LOVE.

"GRACIE O'DONNELL-Oh! why sit you there,
Twining so calmly your bright yellow hair,
Wait you a lover to come from Knockbwee,
When the brown moon arises on mountain and sea?

"You have eyes like the starlight on Nephin's gray peak,
There is bloom on your lips-why the snow on your cheek?
The smile on thy face, gentle maiden, is gone,
And the touch of your fingers is cold as the stone."

"I wait not a lover to come from Knockbwee,
My lover's in chains on the wide swelling sea,
O, Willie mavourneen, when traitors stood high,
The foe felt the galnce of your clear flashing eye.

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