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THE LAND OF POTATOES, OH.
OH, had I in the clear five hundred a year,
'Tis myself would not fear, though not aided one farthing of it;
Faith, if such was my lot, little Ireland's the spot
Where I'd build a snug cot with a bit of garden to it.
As for Italy's dales, their Alps an high vales,
And their fine squalling gales, their signoras to beat us, oh!
I'd never unto thee come, nor abroad ever roam,
But enjoying my sweet home in the land of potatoes, oh.
Hospitality, all reality, no formality, there you'll ever see,
But be so free and easy, that we would amaze you;
You'll think us all crazy for dull we can never be.
If our friend, Honest Jack, would but take a small hack,
So get on his back, and in joy ride over full to us,
He, throughout the whole year, should have the best cheer,
But, faith, no one's so dear as our brother, John Bull, to us.
And we'd teach him when there, both to blunder and swear,
And our brogue with him share, which both genteel and neat
By St. Patrick, I think, when we'd teach him to drink,
That he'd ne'er wish to shrink from the land of potatoes, oh.
Though I'd frankly agree that I'd more happy be
If some heavenly she, in this country, would favor me;
For no spot on the earth can more merits bring forth,
If beauty and wealth can embellish, such ss she.
Good breeding, good nature, you see in each feature,
So nought you've to teach her, so nice and complete she's, oh;
Then if fate would but send unto me such a friend,
What a life could I spend in the land of potatoes, oh.
THERE'S a dashing sort of boy, who is called his mother's joy,
His ructions and his elements they charm me;
He takes the chief command in a water-drinking band,
The ladies all declare he's
Called the Ballyhooley Blue Ribbon Army.
he pride of every fair,
When the temperance brigade go out upon parade,
And he bears the patriotic name of Dooley:
Faith! there's not a sober man in Ballyhooley.
WHEN Dermot O'Dowd coorted Molly M'Can
They were sweet as the honey and soft as the down;
But when they were wed they began to find out
That Dermot could storm and that Molly could frown.
They would neither give in, so the neighbors gave out-
Both were hot till a coldness came over the two;
And Molly would flusther, and Dermot would blusther,
Stamp holes in the flure, and cry out,
O murther! I'm married,
Wish I had tarried;
I'm sleepless and speechless-no word can I say.
My bed is no use:
I'll give back to the goose
The feathers I plucked on last Michaelmas day."
says Molly, "you once used to call me a bird."
Faix, you're ready enough to fly out," says he.
"You said then my eyes were as bright as the skies,
And my lips like the rose-now no longer like me."
Says Dermot, "Your eyes are as bright as the morn,
But your brow is as black as a big thunder cloud.
If your lip is a rose, sure your tongue is a thorn
That sticks in the heart of poor Dermot O'Dowd."
Says Molly, "You once said my voice was a trush;
But now it's a rusty old hinge with a creak."
Says Dermot, "You called me a duck when I coorted,
But now I'm a goose every day in the week.
But all husbands are geese, though our pride it may shock,
From the first 'twas ordained so by nature, I fear.
Ould Adam himself was the first of the flock,
And Eve, with her apple-sauce, cooked him, my dear."
The midnight moon is lighting up
The slopes of Sliev-na-mon-
Whose foot affrights the startled hares
So long before the dawn?
He stopped just where the Anner's stream
Winds up the woods anear,
Then whistled low, and looked around
To see the coast was clear.
THE SHAMROCK SHORE.
IN a musing mind with me combine, and grant me great relief,
Whilst here alone I sigh and moan, I'm overwhelmed with grief;
Whilst here alone I sigh and moan, away from friends at home,
With troubled mind, no rest can find, since I left the shamrock
A sheeling door flew open
In he stepped with right good will"God save all here, and bless your work," Said Rory of the Hill.
In the blooming spring, when the small birds sing, and the lambs
did sport and play,
My way I took, and friends forsook, till I came to Dublin Quay;
I entered on board as a passenger, to England I sailed o'er,
I bid farewell to all my friends all 'round the shamrock shore.
One evening fair, to take the air, down by yon shady grove,
I heard some lads and lasses gay a-making to them love;
It grieved me so, rejoiced to see, as I had once before,
Has my heart betrayed, that I left on the shamrock shore.
Right hearty was the welcome
That greeted him, I ween,
For years gone by he fully proved
How well he loved the Green;
And there was one among them
Who grasped him by the hand—
One who, through all that weary time,
Roamed on a foreign strand—
He brought them news from gallant friends
That made their heart-strings thrill;
"My sowl! I never doubted them!
Said Rory of the Hill.
They sat around the humble board
Till dawning of the day,
And yet not song or shout I heard-
No revelers were they;
When young men all, both great and small, go to the fields to Some brows flushed red with gladness,
Whilst here alone I sigh and moan, to none of them can talk;
Whilst I remain but to bewail, for the mould that I adore,
With a troubled mind, no rest can find, since I left the shamrock"
To Glasgow fair I did repair, some pleasure for to find,
I own it was a pleasant place, down by the flowery Clyde;
I own it was a pleasant place, for rich attire they wore.
There's none so rare as can compare to the girls of shamrock
While some were grimly pale;
But pale or red, from out those eyes
Flashed souls that never quail!
And sing us now about the vow,
They swore for to fulfil-”
"Ye'll read it yet in history,"
Said Rory of the Hill.
So now to conclude, and make an end, my pen begins for to fail,
Farewell, my honored mother, dear, and for me don't bewail;
Farewell, my honored mother, dear, and for me grieve no more,
When I think long, I'll sing my song in praise of the shamrock
RORY OF THE HILL.-Continued.
She looked at him with woman's pride,
With pride and woman's fears;
She flew to him, she clung to him,
And dried away her tears;
He feels her pulse beat truly,
While her arms around him twine"Now God be praised for your stout heart, Brave little wife of mine."
He swung his first born in the air,
While joy his heart did fill-
"You'll be a FREEMAN yet, my boy,"
Said Rory of the Hill.
On tablets of love are engraven the names
Of men of such paramount works,
As Goldsmith and Moore, whose poetical aims
Have ranked with the finest on earth.
Burke, Grattan, Wallace, Fitzgerald and Swift
Are men whose bright intellect shone,
Endeavoring with honor the curtain to lift,
Which gloomed down dear old Ireland upon. There's Balfe, the compossr, Wolfe Tone and the rest,
All true Irishmen will uphold;
But now they're at rest and at peace with the blest,
Their names are in letters of gold.
When the tripes were stew'd, on a dish they were strew'd,
The boys all cried out, Lord be thanked;
But Hegarty's wife was afraid of her life,
She thought it high time for to shank it.
To see how they smiled, for they thought Pat had boiled
Some mutton and beef of the richest;
But little they knew it was leather burgoo
nade out of Paddy's ould leather breeches.
They wollipt the stuff, says Andy, it's tough,
Says Paddy, you're no judge of mutton;
When Bryan McGuirk, on the point of a fork
Lifted up a big ivory button.
Says Darby, what's that? sure I thought it was fat,
Bryan leaps on his legs, and he screeches,
By the powers above, I was trying to shove
My teeth through the flap of his breeches.
WRITTEN IN LETTERS OF GOLD.-Continued.
Where could a patriot, so brave and so good
As the brave Robert Emmet be found?
For he was a martyr, and Irishmen should
His praises forever resound.
How great was the speech that he gave at his
Ere he to the cold grave did go;
His heart often bled for the Emerald Isle,
His friends went quickly there and they did bail him out,
He was forced to change his training ground and take another
Down-trodden and gored by the foe.
Then while I have strength I will sing in the They thought for to discourage him, so as to prevent the mill, But having a brave heart in him, swore that Sayers' blood he'd spill.
Of Emmet, the fearless and bold;
His name and his fame, and the pluck of his days
HEENAN AND SAYERS.
It was on the sixteenth day of April that they agred to fight,
The money it was all put up and everything was right;
But Heenan was arrested and brought to the county jail,
Where he was held to keep the peace under three hundred bail.
To see those heroes in the ring it would make your heart feel gay,
Each bore a smile upon him face in honor of the day;
The spectators they were eager those champions for to see,
For they both said that they'd either die or gain the victory.
Time was called, they both stood up, the excitement it was great,
To see those champions seeking to seal each other's fate;
Sayers he made a left hand punch at Heenan's pretty face,
Who quickly dodged and with a blow laid Tommy near a case.
With his bayonet by his side, Pat has often
turned the tide,
And helped to build the honor of old Eng- Time was called, they both were up to toe the scratch once
But when the second round came on the Briton was up to time,
Heenan made a pass at him, which slightly bruised his dial;
For he thought that he'd easily win, which would make the
His friends they began to cheer, which made Sayers feel sad,
Sayers was up to time again, and his face it bore a smile,
Heenan made a pass at him, which slightly bruised his dial;
He made a terrific right hand punch, which got home on Heenan's
But quickly a sldge-hammer blow caused Sayers for to howl.
A look of melancholy was upon each Briton's face,
They thought that Sayers would get whipped and to England
be a disgrace;
But then he got a handsome blow on brave Heenan's nob,
Their faces bore a smile again, and the betting on Sayers was
Sayers got home on Heenan's mug, which made the Britons roar;
He met him with a right hand blow which sprawled him on the
Heenan followed quickly up, and as Sayers turned around,
Bold Sayers was up to time again, and he looked very bad,
Heenan looked as fresh again, which made the Britons mad;
They had a little false sparring, then at each other did gaze,
When Heenan sprawled him out again, which did the bulls
Then the cheers and bawls of Heenan's friends would make your heart feel gay;
For they were sure, they had not doubt, but he would gain the day;
The friends of Sayers began to think that he would soon give in, And to think their champion would get beat it caused them to grin.
The fight was drawing to a close, the excitement growing worse,
The friends of Heenan they did cheer-and of Sayers, they did
The bulls were sure that Heenan would win, which caused them all to fret,
For every cent that they were worth on Sayers it was bet.