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I'd like to know what hast you done
That still you can't be free?
But this I know, you had a son

Who struggled hard for thee.
O'Connell was that hero's name-

If you were free as once we were,

How happy would we be!

No foreign landlord then would dare

To lord it over thee.

We'd have our homes and bread to eat,
As once we had before;

Oh, Grama Machree, I long to see

Old Ireland free once more.

PRETTY MARY, THE DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER.

FAIX it's I'll sing you a ditty that's funny and witty,
Yet it wakens the pity of every one;

It's in vain ye'll be thryin' to prevint yeersels cryin',
An' yer eyes ye'll be dhryin' whin my song is done.
'Twas in swate Tipperary there stud a nate dairy,
Wid the name of Ned Carey wrute over the door;
And sure Ned sould good butter, so it said on the shutter,
And beautiful googeens a shilling a score.

An' he had a fine daughter call'd Mary,
The pride iv her dad an' his dairy;

Och! she was his delight an' the pearl iv his sight,
An' as frisky an' blithe as a fairy.

Poor old Ned loved his daughter, for an angel he thought her,
An' fine clothes he bought her to make her look gay;
An' she was a sweet creature, so full of good nature,

An' as fair in ach fathure as the blossom o' May.
She was always intrudhin' and niver a fude in,

So ye'll be kincludin' she'd iv lovers her share;
There was tradesmin an' doctors an' lawyers and proctors,
Came no ind of miles from the divil knows where,
Just to get a smile from sweet Mary,

The pride iv her dad an' his dairy;

Och! she was his delight an' the pearl iv his sight,
An' as frisky an' blithe as a fairy.

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Mary's lovers got jealous an' oft they did bellus,
Sayin' before they'll expel us we'll all take the sack;
One wint home to his garden, an' (cravin' yer pardon),
He dug up the devil an' shoveled him back.
An' some shouldered arums an' others sung pearms,
An' many tried charums till their houses they burn'd,
An' the papers related iv deaths contemplated,
Thro' love it shtated, which wasn't returned,

By the beautiful heart-killin' Mary,
The pride iv her dad an' his dairy;

Och! she was his delight an' the pearl iv his sight,
An' as frisky an' blithe as a fairy.

So one day to her father, sez Mary, I'd rather

Be single for life, than that life shud be ruled

By a crawlin' ould waver, an' I'll not have the craver
If the hair iv his head hung with diamonds an' gold.
Sez her father, Daunt raise me, for the divil may saise me,
If ye iver have Pat, I'd as lave see yer dead;

He was known from shore to shore;

Oh, Grama Machree, he'd have set you free, Thin he turn'd like a wild boor, an' bullied his child sure,
But, alas! he is no more.

Till she fell on the tiled flure, her senses most fled.
An' yer wouldn't give that for poor Mary,

The pride iv her dad an' his dairy;

Och! she was his delight an' the pearl iv his sight,
An' as frisky an' blithe as a fairy.

But at last she got betthur an' wraut Pat a letthur,
Telling him to forget her an' bid him good-by!
Thin she gave a great shiver, flue away to the river,
Axed God to forgive her, an' prepared for to die!

PRETTY MARY.-Continued.

Cum away from the water, shouted Ned to his daughter,
An' you shall wed Pat an' have all yer dad's tin;
But it wasn't so aisy, for the spot bein' greazy,
An' her mind bein' crazy, she slipped and fell in.
An' all down to the bottom went Mary,

In sight of her dad an' his dairy; Och! she was his delight an' the pearl iv his sight, An' as frisky an' blithe as a fairy.

An' Mary's poor lover did never recover,

An' his antics an' tanthrums 'twas horrid to see;
Till he tuk off his garther, some forty years afther
An' hoong himself up to a mulberry tree!
An' sure ould Ned Carey follied Pat an' Mary,

An' they haunted the dairy an' kicked up a great din;
An' such shriekin' an' laughter, from foundation to rafther,
Was heard for years afther till the house it fell in!

An' that was the ind o' poor Mary,

Her Paddy, her dad, an' the dairy; An' from that same night I've never seen sight Iv the home iv the beautiful fairy.

THE WOODS OF KYLINOE.

My heart is heavy in my breast-my eyes are full of tears,
My memory is wandering back to long departed years-
To those bright days long, long ago,

When nought I dreamed of sordid care, of worldly woe—
But roved, a gay, light-hearted boy, the woods of Kylinoe.

There, in the springtime of my life, aand springtime of the

year,

I've watched the snowdrop start from earth, the first young buds appear;

The sparkling stream o'er pebbles flow,

The modest violet, and the golden primrose blow,
Within thy deep and mossy dells, beloved Kylinoe!

'Twas there I wooed my Mary Dhuv, and won her for my bride, Who bore me three fair daughters, and four sons, my age's pride;

Though cruel fortune was our foe,

And steeped us to the lips in bitter want and woe,
Yet cling our hearts to those sad days, we passed near Kylinoe!

At length by misery bowed to earth, we left our native strandAnd crossed the wide Atlantic to this free and happy land; Though toils we had to undergo,

Yet soon content-and happy peace 'twas ours to know,
And plenty, such as never blessed our hearth near Kylinoe!

And heaven a blessing has bestowed, more precious far than wealth,

Has spared us to each other, full of years, yet strong in health: Across the threshold when we go,

We see our children's children round us grow,

Like sapling oaks within thy woods, far distant Kylinoe.

Yet sadness clouds our hearts to think that when we are no

more,

Our bones must find a resting place, far, far from Erin's shore, For us-no funeral sad and slow

Within the ancient abbey's burial ground shall go

No, we must slumber far from home, far, far from Kylinoe!

Yet, O! if spirits e'er can leave the appointed place of rest,
Once more will I revisit thee, dear Isle that I love best,
O'er thy green vales will hover slow,

And many a tearful parting blessing will bestow
On all-but most of all on thee, my native Kylinoe!

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My breath I suspended, the noise it soon ended,

""

I ventured to peep from beneath the bedclothes; "Millia murtha! what's that?" a thumpin' jack rat, With a leap from the floor, lit atop of my nose. "Thunder sweep ye! sez I, for a schemin' ould vagabone, Take that, and that," as I leaped on the floor, Shouting, "Murther and fire, Tim, Jerry, Maria, The rats they are eatin' me up by the score."

..

The landlord affrighten' came with a light in,
"I'm murdered alive," sez I, so must away."
Sez he, Before goin', I'd have you be knowin',
For supper and bed you've five shillin's to pay."
"Five shillin's for what? och, don't be disgracin'
Yourself for a rogue," sez I, if you please;
When I can't sleep for rats, you, a brazen ould face on ye,
To charge me five shillin's for plain bread and cheese."

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Oh, England is a purty place, of gold there is no lack

I trudged from York to London, wid me scythe upon me back;
The English girls are beautiful, their loves I don't decline,
The eating and the drinking, too, are beautiful and fine;
But in a corner of me heart, which nobody can see,
Two eyes of Irish blue are always peeping out at me!
Oh, Molly, darlin', never fear, I'm still your own dear boy-
Ould Ireland is me country, and me name is Pat Malloy.

From Ireland to America across the seas I roam,
And every shilling that I got, ah, sure I sent it home;
Me mother couldn't write, but, oh, there came from Father Boyce:
Oh, heaven bless you, Pat," says she-I hear me mother's voice!
But now I'm going home again, as poor as I begun,
To make a happy girl of Moll, and, sure, I think I can;
Me pockets they are empty, but me heart is filled with joy,
For ould Ireland is me country, and me name is Pat Malloy.

COLLEEN DHAS CRUTHIN AMOE. THE beam on the streamlet was playing, The dew-drop still hung on the thorn, When a blooming young couple were straying, To taste the mild fragrance of morn. He sighed as he breathed forth his ditty, And she felt her breast softly to grow; Oh, look on your lover with pity, Ma Colleen dhas Cruthin Amoe.

"Whilst green is yon bank's mossy pillow,
Or evening shall weep the soft tear,
Or the streamlet shall steal 'neath the willow,
So long shall thy image be dear.
Oh, fly to these arms for protection
If pierced by the arrow of woe,
Then smile on my tender affection,
Ma Colleen dhas Cruthin Amoe."

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Now, Neptune, who knew her, began to pursue

her,

In order to woo her-the wicked old Jew; And very nigh caught her a-top of the water, Great Jupiter's daughter, who cried, "Wishastro! "

When Jove, the great janious, looked down and saw Vanus,

And Neptune, so "hanious," pursuing her wild;

He roared out like thunder, he'd tear him asunder

And sure 'twas no wonder, for tazing his child.-CHORUS.

A star then espying, close 'round by him lying,

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