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SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND.
The tazing, the cursing, the shouting, the shooting, The clattering of glasses-the breaking of skullsThe 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,
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,
SWEET jewel, my heart has gone out of my keepin',
There's Shusey Magee, drinks her tay out of chaney,
An', troth, if I liked-no, I needn't say more.
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.
THE GREEN FLAG.
Boys! fill your glasses, each hour that passes Steals, it may be, on our last night's cheer; The day soon shall come, boys, with fife and drum, boys,
Breaking shrilly on the soldier's ear. Drink to the faithful hearts that love us, 'Mid to-morrow's thickest fight;
While our green flag floats above us,
Think, boys, 'tis for them we smite. Down with each mean flag, none but the green
Shall above us be in triumph seen; Oh! think on its glory, long shrined in story, Charge for Erin and her flag of green!
Think on old Brian, war's mighty lion,
'Neath that banner 'twas he smote the Dane; The Northman and Saxon oft turned their backs on,
Those who bore it o'er each crimsoned plain. Beal-an-atha-Buidhe beheld it
Bagenal's fiery onset curb;
Scotch Munroe would fain have felled it,
Shall above us be in triumph seen; Oh! think on its glory, long shrined in story, Charged with Eoghan for our flag of green!
And if at eve, boys, comrades shall grieve, boys,
Lies the flood-mark of the battle's tide.
Gilds the east with yellow light! Hark! the bugle note gives warning
One full bumper to old friends to-night. Down with each mean flag, none but the green
Shall above us be in triumph seen: Oh! think on its glory, long shrined in story, Fall or conquer for our flag of green!
'Twas a cold winter's night, and the tempest was snarlin',
The snow, like a sheet, covered cabin and
When Barney flew over the hills to his darlin', And tapped at the window where Katty did lie. "Arrah! jewel," said he,
are ye sleepin' or wakin'? The night's bitter cold, an' my coat it is thin;
Oh! the storm 'tis a brewin', the frost it is bakin',
Oh! Katty Avourneen, you must let me in."
"Arrah! Barney," cried she, an' she spoke thro' the window,
"Ah! would ye be taking me out of my bed? To come at this time it's a shame an' a sin, too
It's whisky, not love, that's got into your head.
If your heart it was true, of my fame you'd be tender,
Consider the time, an' there's nobody in; Oh! what has a poor girl but her name to defend her?
No, Barney Avourneen, I won't let you in." "Ah! cushla," cried he, "it's my heart is a fountain
That weeps at the wrong it might lay at your door;
Your name is more white than the snow on the mountain,
And Barney would die to preserve it as pure.
I'll go to my home, though the winter winds face me,
I'll whistle them off, for I'm happy within; An' the words of my Kathleen will comfort and bless me; 'Oh! Barney Avourneen, I won't let you in.'"
PROUDLY the note of the trumpet is sounding,
On, every mountaineer,
Rush to the standard of dauntless Red
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;
OULD IRELAND SO GREEN.
MICKEY DOOLAN was one of them boys as went fighting,
He went armed wid an illigant sprig of shillalah.
Erin's avenging steel,
Strike for your country-O'Donnell abu!
There's Billy O'Mulligan, Jimmy O'Sullivan,
Well, we meets Danny Looran, and says to him: " Danny,
So long as I fight, that's sufficient, I hope!"
When they'd done with each other, they sat down to rest,
And they felt that they both a good action had done;
Grasp, every stalwart hand,
Hackbut and battle-brand,
Now some more sons of Erin were fighting for freedom,
Pay them all back the deep debt so long But they oon fished 'em out, and for love of Home Rule, boys,
They gave 'em a thrashin' before they were dry!
So away they went to a whisky shebeen;
Norris and Clifford well
Can of Tir-Conaill tell
Onward to glory-O'Donnell abu!
Fight the old fight again,
Sons of Tir-Conaill, all valiant and true; Danny Looran forgot where he left his right eyeball,
And Larry Moore's face wasn't fit to be seen,
They'd just one more scrimmage before they wor partin',
And Mickey wor tired, and wouldn't go walking,
So rode home on a shutter for ould Ireland so green.-CHORUS.
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.
There was lashins of punch and wine for the ladies,
Potatoes and cakes and bacon and tay,
From "The Harp that once thro' Tara's
To "Sweet Nelly Gray and "The Ratcatcher's Daughter,"
All singing together at Lanigan's ball.
They were startin' all sorts of nonsensical dances.
Dancin' away in couples and groups,
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
Some of the ladies declared she was painted,
She took a small drop of potheen, 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 1rom 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.
FLAG OF OUR LAND.
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.
Turning around in a nate whirligig;
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,
The Norman trampled on your folds, the Norman trampled on us, 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
This isle is ours, its plains and hills, from center to the utmost
We tread its soil, we speak its tongue, we dearly pray to see it
Hark you who still have hearts to toil; we're scattered, but not