NORAH MAGEE. SURE it is not at reading and writing 'Tis true he oft sends me a letter There's a mighty big D to begin it, When I bring home the milk in the morning I know to deceive he'd be scorning I can bake, I can brew, and boil praties, It's little that I care for learning, When older grown, the girls ochone! 'Till Sergeant Shea, he came out one day, She'll break her heart for leaving me. None equalled the Kilkenny boy; But Sergeant Shea, he died one day, And the same poltogue who spoiled his brogue And it's when the peace bid fighting cease, For 'tis herself, she has the pelf, And 'tis myself can spend it joy, She cried, "Ochone! you're all my own, My thundering fine Kilkenny boy, Oh! you're my broth of a boy, you're my jewel joy, You're my own, my fine Kilkenny boy." To see their eyes glitter It made my heart twitter, But their frown-Och it's bitter When clouded their brows! Then their dear little noses Seem made to smell posies, Och bone!--so comely and merry, They're quite captivating-the sweet girls of Derry. So sweet too each voice is, Its music so choice is, My heart still rejoices To think of the strain. And to show how they bind me, I left them behind me, But soon they shall find me In Derry again. Och hone!-so pleasant and merry, I'd live till I die-for the sweet girls of Derry. THE LOVE-SICK MAID. THE winter it is past, And the summer's come at last, And the small birds sing on every tree; The hearts of those are glad, Whilst mine is very sad, Whilst my true love is absent from me. I'll put on my can of black, For my true lover's sake, For he rides at the Curragh of Kildare. A livery I'll wear, And I'll comb down my hair, And I'll dress in the velvet so green: To the Curragh of Kildare, With patience she did wait, Till they ran for the plate, In thinking young Johnston to see; But Fortune proved unkind To that sweetheart of mine, For he's gone to Lurgan for me. I should not think it strange, I'm obliged to remain, Whilst in tears do I spend the whole night. My love is like the sun, That in the firmament doth run, Which is always constant and true; But yours is like the moon, That doth wander up and down, And in every month it's new. All you that are in love, For you pitied are by me; Experience makes me know That your heart is full of woe, Since my true love is absent from me. Farewell, my joy and heart, You are the fairest that I e'er did see; Although you are below my degree. GRAMACHREE MOLLY. As down by Banna's banks I strayed The little birds, in blithest notes They sang their little tales of loves, Ah! Gramachree, ma Colleenoge, MARY OF TRALEE. GRAMACHREE MOLLY.-Continued. The daisy pied, and all the sweets Ah! Gramachree, etc. I laid me down upon a bank, That doom'd me thus the slave of love, How can she break the honest heart Ah! Gramachree, etc. Oh, had I all the flocks that graze Or low'd for me the num'rous herds With her I love I'd gladly share OCH hone! and is it true then that my love is coming back again? And will his face like sunshine come to glad my cottage door? 'Tis then the clouds will wear away and never will look black again, For he's written me a letter and we soon shall meet once more. He tells me he has gold in tore, but oh! he tells me something more, He says tho' we've been parted he has still been true to me; And I've to him been faithful too, and will my dream at last come true? Perhaps it's in a coach and four he's coming back from sea. And he's welcome as the sunshine to Mary of Tralee. Och, hone! when Terry went away, it's little we'd between us then, We pledged our hearts, 'twas nothing else that we had got to pledge: A heart of stone I'm sure it would have melted to have seen us then, But the only stones that saw us were the cold ones 'neath the But now a lady he'll make me, and Terry Lord Lieutenant be, For, he's comin' back to me, And he's welcome as the sunshine to Mary of Tralee. Ah! Gramachree, etc. Och, Terry, and I knew it, will become a great and mighty man, Two turtle doves, above my head Sat courting on a bough; I envied not their happiness, Ah! Gramachree, etc. Then fare thee well, my Molly dear, Tho' thou art false, may heaven on thee Ah! Gramachree, etc. THE GREEN ISLE. FAIREST! put on a while These pinions of light I bring thee, Fields, where the Spring delays, With only her tears to guard her. In race majestic frowning, Like some bold warrior's brows That Love hath just been crowning. There never was his equal, as I told him long ago; He only had one failing, that he often was a flighty-man, alone, And if the boy for spirit lacks, he'll find enough in me; And he's welcome as the sunshine to Mary of Tralee. IF I had on the clear But five hundred a year, 'Tis myself would not fear Without adding a farthing to 't; Faith if such was my lot, Little Ireland's the spot Where I'd build a snug cot, With a bit of garden to 't. As for Italy's dales, I'd ne'er to them come, In the land of potatoes, O! All reality, There you ever see; For dull we never be! THE LAND OF POTATOES, O!-Continued. If my friend honest Jack, And with joy gallop full to us; As our brother John Bull to us! Which both genteel and neat is, O! And we'd make him so drink, That he never would shrink From the land of potatoes, O! Though I freely agree I should more happy be If some lovely she From Old England would favor me; For no spot on earth Can more merit bring forth, If with beauty and worth You embellish'd would have her be: Good breeding, good nature, So sweet and complete she's, O! Then if Fate would but send Unto me such a friend, What a life would I spend In the land of potatoes, O! SHAMUS O'BRIEN. OH! sweet is the smile of the beautiful morn And the voice of the nightingale singing his tune, How sad and unhappy I am. CHORUS. Oh! Shamus O'Brien, why don't you come home? I've but one darling wish, and that is that you'd come, I'll smile when you smile, and I'll weep when you weep, And all the fond vows that I've made you I'll keep, Does the sea have such bright and such beautiful charms, Oh! why did I let you get out of my arms, Like a bird that was caged and is free?-CHORUS. Oh! Shamus O'Brien, I'm loving you yet, It was you who first took it, and can you forget No! no! if you break it with sorrow and pain, If you'll bring it to me, I'll mend it again, THE GREEN ISLE.-Continued. Islets, so freshly fair, That never hath bird come nigh them, But from his course through air He hath been won down by them. Types, sweet maid, of thee, Whose look, whose blush inviting, Never did Love yet see From Heaven, without alighting. Lakes, where the pearl lies hid, Lets fall in lonely weeping. To 'scape the wild wind's rancor, And harbors, worthiest homes, Where Freedom's fleet can anchor. Then, if, while scenes so grand, Should haply be stealing o'er thee, O, let grief come first, O'er pride itself victorious— Thinking how man hath curst What Heaven had made so glorious! PADDY, YE RASCAL. YE have been to the fair wid ye, Paddy, ye rascal; Ye had Biddy O'Hair wid ye, Paddy, ye rascal; It's mesilf is a flame at ye, Ye swore by the sun and moon, Paddy, ye rascal, Ye'd marry me late or soon, Paddy, ye rascal; Is this how you sigh for me, Pretendin' to die for me? Och! you told a big lie to me, Paddy, ye rascal. Give me none uv your blarney now, Paddy, ye rascal; For what do I care me now? Paddy, ye rascal; Ochone, ye oppriss me now- Arrah, now! don't bother me, In truth, and ye'll smother me! Ye "dreamed uv me!" did ye now? Go to the-praise, and luck wid ye now! |