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HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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"Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teazed rne enough,
And I've thrash'd for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff,
And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste,
So 1 think, after that, I may talk to the praste."
Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck.
So soft and so white, without freckle or speck;
And he look'd in her eyes, that were beaming with light,
And he klss'd her sweet lips—Don't you think he was right?
''Now, Rory, leave off, sir—you'll hug me no more;
That'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. |
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SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.
She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying. She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking; Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the minstrel Is breaking. He had lived for his love, for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwined him; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried.
Nor long will his love stay behind him. Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest
When they promise a glorious morrow; They'll shlno o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West, '
From her own loved island of sorrow.
OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT.
Oft in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, of childhood's years.
The words of love then spoken, The eyes that shone, now dimmed and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus in the stilly night, etc. When I remember all
The friends so linked together, I've seen around me fall,
Like leaves in winter weather, I feel like one, who treads alone
Some banquet hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, whose garland's dead,
And all but me departed.
Thus in the stilly night, etc. |
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THE BELLS OF SHANDON.
With deep affection and recollection,
I often think of the Shandon bells. Whose sounds so wild would, in days of childhood,
Fling round my cradle their magic spells. On this I ponder where'er I wander,
And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee! With thy bells of Shandon That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters of the river Lee! I have heard bells chiming full many a clime in.
Toiling sublime, in cathedral shrine, While at a glib rate, brass tongues would vibrate,
But all their music spoke naught to thine! |
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