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With the blooming girl I sing.
As she sat in her low-backed car,
The man at the turnpike bar

Never asked for the toll,
But just rubbed his ould poll,
And looked after the low-backed car.
In battle's wild commotion,

The proud and mighty Mars
With hostile scythes demands his tithes
Of death-in warlike cars.
While Peggy, peaceful goddess,

Has darts in her right eye, That knock men down in the market-town,

As right and left they flyWhile she sits in her low-backed car, Than battle more dangerous far,

For the doctor's art
Cannot cure the heart

That is hit from that low-backed car.
Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,

Has strings of ducks and geese, But the scores of hearts she slaughters


AND Shamus, allhay, is it thrue, what they say, this news from the Parliament,

By far outnumber these; While she among her poultry sits

Just like a turtle-dove,

Well worth the cage, I do engage,
Of the blooming god of love!
While she sits in the low-backed car,
Her lovers come near and far,

And envy the chicken
That Peggy is pickin'

As she sits in the low-backed car.

That all of my boys, my sojer boys, back home are to be sent?
Back home are to be sent, allhay, in shame and black disgrace,
For having, inside their scarlet coats, the heart of their grand old


From my heart I say, God bless this day,
My bouchal bawn machree;

Without penny or pack to tack to your back,
You're welcome home to me.

They'll be sorry and sore when you're not to the fore these dangerous coming years,

Oh, I forget, they're bairns yet, mush, see their volunteers; And whin those bairns meet the foe, faith vic'tries will be scant, 'Tis right enough, you're not the stuff, 'tis min wid legs they'll want.

From my heart I say, etc.

Whin you, like a thraveling killin' machine, o'er land and say did


Did it ever' inther your mind at all, you'd have work to do at


You'd have work to do at home, allhay, of the easiest, quarriest


Alanna machree, come hither to me-there's somethin' in the wind. From my heart I say, etc.

In dark and in dawn, na bouchaleen bawn, they thried to coax

you away,

Wid bounties, and medals, and dhrums, and fifes, and ribbons so bright and gay; Machree, I knew to me you'd be thrue, through thick and thin aich day;

For hearts so brave never beat in the slave who'd fight for nothing but pay.

From my heart I say, etc.

Did these wholesale despots think, allhay, they bought you out and out

Whin they gave you a rag to cover your back, and a bit to put in your mouth?

They thought you'd forget alanna machree, for they spoke so smooth and fair, How they rooted you out of house and home and left you starving and bare.

From my heart I say, etc.

The old home is in ruins now, 'twas the peelers, sure, pulled it down,

And mother and Eileen they died that night in the snow going into the town;

In the old graveyard they are lying, allhay, above them the night wind moans, Alanna machree, sure you'll thry to free the sod that covers their bones?

From my heart I say, etc.

In life there's nothing nobler than revenge for our martyr'd dead; To lighten the load of the hand oppressed, to give the hungry


To strive for the poor, the plundered poor, with a brother's strong, true hand,

To march to the grand old music still, for God and our mother


From my heart I say, etc.


Oh, I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,
Than a coach-and-four and gold galore,
And a lady for my bride.

For the lady would sit fornenst me
On a cushion made with taste,
And Peggy would sit beside me

With my arm around her waist-
While we drove in the low-backed car
To be married by Father Maher.

Oh, my heart would beat high At her glance and her sigh, Though it beat in a low-backed car!


AWAY with the nonsense of vain poetasters, Their sighing and dying's all lying and fudge; They say love's a disease full of woes and disasters:

I deny it, point-blank, and I think I'm a judge.

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Он, divil a bit can I tell ye now

What happened to me at the wake o' me cow;
There was Larry an' Patrick an' Jerry an' Tim,
And all the relayshuns, hooch, bad scan to thim.
They came in their thousands from valley and hill,
And broke the resource ov the whisky still,
That was the great fayture of Ballynahog,
With their lashuns an' drinkin's an' crying for grog.


Wid their tearing, daring, cursing, swearing,
Scooting, looting, hooting, shooting;
Whisky, potatoes, och, wigs on the green,
Shillalahs were flying in ould Skibbereen.

Whn Larry the spalpeen, an' Tim tuk the floor,
An' hung up their hats on the back of the door;
Be jabers, said I, just for fun loike, to Pat;
"How's that for turnips," cried Larry, "take that!"
I took it, and then, for the rest of my loife,
I'll never forget the ructions and strife;

I can't tell entoirely how that row was fixed,
But all me relayshuns was pretty well mixed.-CHORUS.

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"I gave it away to a good-lookin' boy,
Who thinks there is no one like Biddy Malloy;
So don't bother me, Pat; jist be aisy," says


"Indade, if ye'll let me, I will that! says he;

"It's a bit of a flirt that ye are, on the sly; I'll not trouble ye more, but I'll bid ye goodby."


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"You have knocked the cock-feathers jist

av me hat!"

"Come back, Pat," says she. "What
thin?" says he.
"Bekase I meant you all the time, sir!"

"Arrah, Patrick," cries Biddy, "an' where are ye goin'?

Sure it isn't the best of good manners ye're showin'

To lave me so suddint!" Och, Biddy,"


"Indeed, then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like,
For 1 half gave a promise to soothering Mike;


The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound "—



Faith," says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground.”
fur," Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go-
Sure I dream every night that I'm hating you so."
Oh!" says Rory, "that same I'm delighted to hear,
For dhrames always go by conthrairies, my dear;
Oh! jewel, keep dreaming that same till you die,
And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie.
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure,
Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.

O'FARRELL THE FIDDLER. Now, thin, what has become of Thady O'Far. rell?

The honest poor man, what's delayin' him, why?

Oh, the thrush might be dumb, and the lark cease to carol,

Whin his music began to comether the sky. Three summers have gone since we've missed you, O'Farrell, From the weddin' and patron, and fair on the green;

In an hour to St. John we'll light up the


But ourselves we're not flatter'n' that thin you'll be seen. O'Thady, we've watched and we've waited for

Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teased me enough,
And I've thrashed for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff;
And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste,
So, I think, after that, I may talk to the priest."
Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck,
So soft and so white, without freckle or speck!
And he looked in her eyes that were beaming with light;
And he kissed her sweet lips-don't you think he was right?


Now, Rory, leave off, sir-you'll hug me no more-
tar-There's eight times to-day that you've kissed me before."
"Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure-
For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More.


"SWEET Norah, come here, and look into the fire;
Maybe in its embers good luck we might see:
But don't come too near, or your glances so shining,
Will put it clean out, like the sunbeams, machree!


To see your ould self steppin' into the town

Wid your corduroys patched so clane and so clever,

And the pride of a Guelph in your smile or your frown.

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YOUNG Rory O'More courted young Kathleen Bawn,
He was bold as a hawk, and she soft as the dawn;
He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,
And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.


Soon amongst us you'd stand, wid the ould people's blessin'

As they lean'd from the door to look out at you pass; Wid the colleen's kiss-hand, and the childer's caressin',

And the boys fightin' sure, which'd stand
your first glass.

Thin you'd give us the news out of Cork and

Had O'Flynn married yet?-Was ould Mack
still at work?--

Now, Kory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry,
Reproof on her lips, but a smile in her eye;


"With your tricks I don't know in troth what I'm about-
Faith! you've teased till I've put on my cloak inside out."
“Oh, jewel,” says Rory, "that same is the way
You've thrated my heart for this many a day;
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure,
For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.

"Just look 'twixt the sods, where so brightly they're burning;
There's a sweet little valley, with rivers and trees,-
And a house on the bank, quite as big as the squire's-
Who knows but some day we'll have something like these?

"And now there's a coach, and four galloping horses,
A coachman to drive, and a footman behind;
That betokens some day we will keep a fine carriage,

And dash through the streets with the speed of the wind."

As Dermot was speaking, the rain down the chimney

Soon quenched the turf-fire on the hollowed hearth-stone;
While mansion and carriage in smoke-wreaths evanished,
And left the poor dreamers dejected and lone.


Then Norah to Dermot these words softly whisper'd,-
'Tis better to strive, than to vainly desire;
And our little hut by the roadside is better

Than palace, and servants, and coach-IN THE FIRE!"

"Tis years since poor Dermot his fortune was dreaming-
Since Norah's sweet counsel effected its cure;
For ever since then hath he toiled night and morning,
And now his snug mansion looks down on the Suir.

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For whinever you'd start jig or planxty so


Thin how Micky Dease forged steps was a wonder,

And well might our women of Roseen be proudSuch a face, such a grace, and her darlin' feet under, Like two swallows skimmin' the skirts of a



BRIGHT home of my youth, my own sorrowing sireland,
My fond heart o erflows and the tears dim mine eyes,
When I think of thee, far-distant, beautiful Ireland,
And the dark seas between me and you, my heart's prize.
Oft-oft do I sigh for the days of my childhood,
When I plucked the wild flow'rs on fair upland lea,
Or roamed the long day thro' the sweet, shady wildwood,
On the green, grassy banks of the calm Avonree.

Thin, Thady, ochone! come back, for widout


We are never as gay as we were in the past: Oh, Thady, mavrone, why thin I wouldn't doubt you. Huzzah! boys, huzzah! here's O'Farrell at last! What an elegant place,

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But the day may yet come when I'll see thee soft smiling,

And gaze on thee fondly, fair, beautiful land;

may yet live to see thro' thy narrow glens filing, The exiles now cast on a fair, foreign strand. may fight for thee, too, ere the trees again blossom, And see thee, my Erin, yet happy and free; And my heart may yet rest on thy soft, dewy bosom, In a green, grassy grave by the calm Avonree.



ON the banks of the Shannon, in darling old Ireland,
Dwells a fair damsel, she's soon to be mine;
She's a darling young creature and lovely in feature,
I ne'er can can forget her! dear Katie O'Ryan.
She's as fair as the dawn of the morning while beaming,
Her eyes soft, her lips like the ruby red wine;
Oh! she's the dear little shamrock, I'm constantly dreaming
Of my own darling Katie, dear Katie O'Ryan.


She's the dear little shamrock, I'm constantly dreaming Of my own darling Katie, dear Katie O'Ryan.

I now have rov'd far to a land call'd America,

A home, Katie dear, for the honest and true;
My heart saddens tho' when I think that I am

So far away from old Ireland, and Katie, from you.
The winter is on, but I heed not its cold, dear,

The spring will bring flow'rs and joy to my heart;
Oh, for it's nearing the time when I'll bring my love out here,
Then in this free country our new lives we'll start.

The fields here are green as they are in old Ireland,
And all have their freedom to do what is right;
Ah! Katie, l'e seen pretty girls by the thousand,

And I'm thinking of none but you, darling, to-night.
When the bright summer comes I will hasten, sure, back again,
Take your soft, tender hands gently in mine. Oh!
I'll never more leave you, but thro' life we'll wander,
Till death it will part me and Katie O'Ryan.

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