"Ah! won't you take my ivy?-the loveliest ever seen!

Ah! won't you have my Holly boughs?-all you who love the Green!

Do!-take a little bunch of each, and on my knees I'll pray, That God may bless your Christmas, and be with you New Year's Day.

"This wind is black and bitter, and the hail-stones do not spare My shivering form, my bleeding feet, and stiff, entangled hair; Then, when the skies are pitiless, be merciful, I say—

So heaven will light your Christmas and the coming New Year's Day."

'Twas thus a dying maiden sung, while the cold hail rattled down, And fierce winds whistled mournfully o'er Dublin's dreary town:One stiff hand clutched her Ivy sprigs and Holly boughs so fair, With the other she kept brushing the haildrops from her hair.

So grim and statue-like she seemed, 'twas evident that Death Was lurking in her footsteps-while her hot, impeded breath Too plainly told her early doom-though the burden of her lay Was still of life and Christmas joys, and a Happy New Year's Day.

"Twas in that broad, bleak Thomas Street, I heard the wanderer sing,

I stood a moment in the mire, beyond the ragged ring-
My heart felt cold and lonely, and my thoughts were far away,
Where I was many a Christmas-tide and Happy New Year's Day.

I dreamed of wanderings in the woods among the Holly Green;
I dreamed of my own native cot and porch with Ivy Screen;
I dreamed of lights forever dimm'd-of Hopes that can't return--
And dropped a tear on Christmas fires that never more can burn.

The ghost-like singer still sung on, but no one came to buy;
The hurrying crowd passed to and fro, but did not heed her cry;
She uttered one low, piercing moan-then cast her boughs away-
And smiling, cried-“I'll rest with God before the New Year's
Day!"

On New Year's Day I said my prayers above a new-made grave, Dug recently in sacred soil, by Lifey's murmuring wave;

The Minstrel maid from Earth to Heaven has winged her happy

way,

And now enjoys, with sister saints, an endless New Year's Day.

"JENNY, I'M NOT JESTING."

Ан, Jenny, I'm not jesting,
Believe what I'm protesting,
And yield what I'm requesting
These seven years through.'
"Ah, Lawrence, I may grieve you,
Yet, if I can't relieve you,
Sure, why should I deceive you
With words untrue?

But, since you must be courtin',
There's Rosy and her fortune;
'Tis rumoured your consortin'
With her of late.

Or there's your cousin Kitty,
So charming and so witty,
She'd wed you out of pity,
Kind Kate."

"Fie! Jenny, since I knew you,
Of all the lads that woo you.
None's been so faithful to you,
If truth were told.

Even when yourself was dartin'
Fond looks at fickle Martin,
Till off the thief went startin'
For Sheela's gold."

"And if you've known me longest, Why should your love be strongest, And his that's now the youngest,

For that be worst?"
"Fire, Jenny, quickest kindled
Is always soonest dwindled:
And thread the swiftest spindled
Snaps first."

"If that's your wisdom, Larry,
The longer I can tarry,
The luckier I shall marry

At long, long last."
"I've known of girls amusing
Their minds, the men refusing,
Till none were left for choosing
At long, long last."

"Well, since it seems that marriage
Is still the safest carriage.
And all the world disparage

The spinster lone;

Since you might still forsale me,
I think I'll let you take me,
Yes! Larry, you may make me
Your own!"

THE MONKS OF THE SCREW. WHEN St. Patrick our order created

And called us the Monks of the Screw, Good rules he revealed to our abbot,

To guide us in what we should do. But first he replenished his fountain

With liquor the best in the sky; And he swore by the word of his saintship That fountain should never run dry. My children, be chaste-till you're tempted; While sober, be wise and discreet; And humble your bodies with fistingWhene'er you have nothing to eat. Then be not a glass in the convent, Except on a festival, found: And, this rule to enforce, 1 ordain it A festival all the year round!

ERIN'S GREEN SHORE.

ONE evening, so late, as I rambled

On the banks of a clear purling stream, I sat myself down on a bed or primroses, And so gently fell into a dream.

I dreamt I beheld a fair female,

Her equals I ne'er saw before,

As she sighed for the wrongs of her country, As she strayed along Erin's green shore.

I quickly addressed this fair female,

66

My jewel, come tell me your name,

For here in this country, I know, you're a stranger,

Or I would not have asked you the same." She resembled the Goddess of Liberty, And of Freedom the mantle she wore, As she sighed for the wrongs of her country,

As she strayed along Erin's green shore. "I know you're a true son to Granue, And my secrets to you I'll unfold; For here in the midst of all dangers,

Not knowing my friends from my foes, I'm the daughter of Daniel O'Connell,

And from England I lately came o'er, I've come to awake my brethren

That slumber on Erin's green shore."
Her eyes were like two sparkling diamonds
Or the stars of a cold frosty night;

Her cheeks were two blooming roses,
And her teeth of the ivory so white.
She resembled the Goddess of Freedom,
And green was the mantle she wore,
Bound 'round with the shamrock and roses
That grew along Erin's green shore.

PADDY'S PASTORAL RHAPSODY.

WHEN Molly, th' other day, sir,
Was makin' of the hay, sir,

I ask'd her for to be my bride,

And Molly she began to chide:

Says she, "You are too young, dear Pat."

Says I, "My jew'l, I'll mend o' that."

You are too poor," says she, beside;

When to convince her, then, I tried,

That wealth is an invintion

The wise should never minion,

And flesh is grass, and flowers will fade,

And it's better be wed than die an owld

maid.

The purty little sparrows

Have neither plows nor harrows,

Yet they live at aise, and are contint,
Bekase, you see, they pay no rint;
They have no care nor flustherin'
About diggin' or industherin';

No foolish pride their comfort hurts-
For they cat the flax, and wear no shirts-
For wealth is an invintion, etc.

Sure, Nature clothes the hills, dear,
Without any tailor's bills, dear;

And the bees they sip their sweets, my sowl.

Though they never had a sugar bowl;
The dew it feeds the rose of June,
But 'tis not with a silver spoon:
Then let us patthern take from those,
The birds and bees. and lovely rose-

For wealth is an invintion, etc.

MANTLE SO GREEN.

As I went a-walking, one evening in June,
To view the fair fields and meadows so green,

I spied a young damsel, she appeared like a queen,
With her costly fine robes and her mantle so green.

I stood in amaze-I was struck with surprise-
I thought her an angel that fell from the skies;
Her eyes like the diamond, her cheeks like the rose,
She is one of the fairest that nature composed.

Said I, Pretty fair maid if you come with me,
We will join in wedlock, and married will be;
I'll dress you in rich attire, and you'll appear like a queen,
With your costly fine robes and your mantle so green!

She answered me, Young man you must be refused,
For, I'll wed with no man, you must me excuse;
To the green hills I'll wander to shun all men's view,
For, the lad that I love lies in famed Waterloo.

Since you are not married tell me your love's name,
I have been in battle, I might know the same;
Draw near to my garment, and there you will see
His name is embroidered on my mantle so green!

On the raising of her mantle, it's there I behold His name and his surname, in letters of gold, Young William O'Reilly appeared in my view, He was my chief comrade in famed Waterloo.

We fought so victorious where bullets did fly,
And, in the field of Nervon, your true lover does lie;
We ought for three days to the fourth afternoon,
He received his death summons on the 18th of June.

As he was a-dying, I heard his last cry:
Were you here, lovely Nancy, content I would die-
Peace is proclaimed, and the truth I'll declare,
Here is your love's token, the gold ring I wear.

I stood in amazement, the paler she grew,

She flew from my arms with her heart full of woe;
To the green hills I'll wander for the lass that I love!
Rise up! lovely Nancy, your grief I'll remove.

Oh! Nancy lovely Nancy it was I won your heart
In your father's garden, that day we did part;
In your father's garden, within a green shadow tree,
Where I rolled you in my arms in your mantle so green!

This couple has got married; I heard people say
They had nobles to attend them on their wedding day,
Now peace is proclaimed, and the war is all o'er,
You are welcome to my arms, lovely Nancy, once more!

THE BANKS OF CLAUDY.

IT was on a summer morning, all in the month of May,
Down by yon flowery-garden, where Betsey she did stray,
I overheard a damsel in sorrow to complain,

All for her absent lover, that plows the raging main.

I went up to this fair maid and put her in surprise,
I own she did not know me, I being in disguise.

Said I: My charming creature, my joy and heart's delight,
How far do you travel this dark and rainy night?

The way, kind sir, to Claudy, if you please to show,
Pity a maid distracted, for I have to go;

I am in search of a faithless young man, Johnny is his name,
All on the banks of Claudy I am told he does remain.

If Johnny was here this night, he would keep me from all harm,
He's in the field of battle all in his uniform;

And he's in the field of battle, his foes he will destroy,
Like a ruling king of honor he fought in the wars of Troy.
It's six weeks and better since your true love left the shore,
He is cruising the wide ocean where foaming billows roar;
He is cruising the wide ocean for honor and for gain,
I was told the ship was wrecked all off the coast of Spain.
When she heard the dreadful news she fell into despair,
To wringing of her hands and tearing of her hair;
Since he has gone and left me no man I will take,
In some lonely valley I will wander for his sake.

His heart was filled with joy, no longer he could stand,
He flew into her arms, saying, Betsey, I am the man;

I am the faithless young man whom you thought was slain,
And since we are met on Claudy's banks, we'll never part again.

"For in him the heart of a woman combined
With a heroic life, and a governing mind—
A martyr for Ireland-his grave has no stone,
His name seldom named, and his virtues unknown."

I was woke from my dream by the voices and tread
Of a band, who came into the home of the dead;
They carried no corpse, and they carried no stone,

And they stopped when they came to the grave of Wolfe Tone.

There were students and peasants, the wise and the brave,
And an old man who knew him from cradle to grave,
And the children who thought me hard-hearted; for they
On that sanctified soil were forbidden to play.

But the old man, who saw I was mourning there, said:
"We come, sir, to weep where young Wolfe Tone is laid,
And we're going to raise him a monument, too-
A plain one, yet fit for the simple and true."

My heart overflowed, and I clasped his old hand,
And I blessed him, and blessed every one of his band.
"Sweet! sweet! 'tis to find that such faith can remain
To the cause, and the man so long vanquished and slain."

In the Bodenstown churchyard there is a green grave,
And freely around it let winter winds rave;

Far better they suit him-the ruin and gloom

Till Ireland, a nation, can build him a tomb.

KILL OR CURE.

TO SUSTAIN THE FAMILY REPUTA

TION.

I'm a roving Irish boy, I was born in Ballaraghan,
And christened with much joy, after my father, Patrick Fagan;
I had a sweetheart, Kitty, and I courted her so gaily,
Divil a thought I had of trouble as I twisted my shillelah,
Musha, Kitty O'Shaughnessy, she's the girl for me,
Whack fal de daddy, musha, O'Shaughnessy.

Och, 'twas herself I courted, a girl so neat and cozy,
She said she loved me in return-her cheeks were red and rosy:
Of sovereigns I had twenty, says she, I've seventeen,
We'll join ourselves and them together and live like king and

queen!

Make the bargain, as I did myself, wid the doctor, kill or cure.

THE WEARING OF THE GREEN.

FAREWELL, for I must leave thec, my own, my native shore,
And doom'd in foreign lands to dwell, may never see thee more;
For laws, our tyrant laws have said, that seas must roll between
Old Erin and her faithful sons, that love to wear the Green.
O, we love to wear the Green! O, how we love the Green;
Our native land we cannot stand, for wearing of the Green;
Yet wheresoe'er the exile lives though oceans roll between,
Thy faithful sons will fondly sing, "The wearing of the Green."

My father lov'd his country, and sleeps within her breast,
While I, that would have died for her, must never so be blest;
Those tears my mother shed for me, how bitter had they been,
If I had prov❜d a traitor to “The wearing of the Green."
There were some who wore the Green, who did betray the Green,
Our native land we cannot stand, though traitors to the Green.
Yet whatsoe'er our fate may be, when oceans roll between,
Her faithful sons will ever sing, "The wearing of the Green."

My own, my native island, where'er I chance to roam,
Thy lonely hills shall ever be my own beloved home;
And brighter days must surely come, then those that we have

seen,

When Erin's sons may boldly sing, "The wearing of the Green."
For we love to wear the Green, O, how we love the Green!
Our native land we cannot stand, for wearing of the Green;
But brighter days must surely come, than those that we have
seen,

When all her sons may proudly sing, "The wearing of the Green."

MOLLY BRALLAGHAN.

An! then, mam, dear, did you never hear of purty Molly Brallaghan?

Troth, dear! I have lost her, and I'll never be a man again; Not a spot on my hide will another summer tan again,

Since Molly she has left me alone for to die.

The place where my heart was, you might easy rowl a turnip in,
As big as any pavin' stane, and from Dublin to the Devil's Glin;
If she chose to take another, sure, she might have sent mine back
again,

And not leave me here all alone for to die.

Mam, dear, I remember, when the milking time was past and gone,
We went into the meadows, where she swore I was the only man
That ever she could love-yet, oh! the base, the cruel one,
After all that to leave me here alone for to die.
Mam, dear, I remember as we came home the rain began,
I rolled her in my coat, tho' devil a waistcoat I have on;
And my shirt was rather fine-dran-yet, oh! the base and cruel

one,

After all that she has left me here alone to die.

I went and told my tale to Father McDonnell, mam,

And thin I wint and axed advice of Counselor O'Connell, mam;
He told me promise-breeches had been ever since the world began,
Now I have only one pair, mam, and they are corduroy.
Arrah! what could he mean, mam, or what would you advise me.
to do?

Must my corduroys to Molly go? in troth, I'm bothered what to do:

I can't afford to lose both my heart and my breeches, too-
Yes, what need I care, when I've only to die!

THE EXILE OF ERIN. THERE came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,

The dew on his robe was heavy and chill; For his country he sighed when, at twilight, repairing

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion,

For it rose on its own native isle of the ocean,

Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion,

He sang the bold anthem of Erin-gobragh.

Oh! sad is my fate, said the heart-broken stranger,

The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee;

But I have no refuge from famine or dan

They died to defend me, or live to deplore.

Where now is my cabin door, so fast by the wildwood?

Sisters and brothers did weep for its fall; Where is the mother that looked on my childhood?

And where is my bosom friend-dearer than all?

Ah! my sad soul, long abandoned by pleas

ure,

Why did it dote on the fast-fading treasure? Tears like the rain, may fall without meas[ call.

ure,

But rapture and beauty they cannot reBut yet all its fond recollections suppressing.

One dying wish my fond bosom shall draw;

Erin, an exile, bequeaths thee his blessing. Land of my fathers, Erin-go-bragh. Buried and cold, when my heart stills its motion,

Green be thy fields, sweetest isle in the

ocean,

And the harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion,

Erin, mavourneen sweet Erin-go bragh.