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HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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"Be sure you tell him how the neighbors came
And cut the corn and stored it In the barn; 'Twouid be as well to mention them by name-Pat Murphy, Ned M'Cabe, and James M'Carn, And big Tim Daly from behind the hili; But say, agra—Oh, say I missed him still.
"They came with ready hands our toil to share—
'Twas then I missed him most—my own right hand; I felt, although kind hearts were round me there, The kindest heart beat in a foreign land.
Strong hand! brave h^art! oh, severed far from me By many a weary league of shore and sea.
"And tell him she was with us—he'll know who;
Mavourneen, hasn't she the winsome eyes, The darkest, deepest, brightest, bonniest blue, I ever saw except in summer skies.
And such black hair! it is the blackest hair That ever rippled over neck so fair.
"Tell him old Pincher fretted many a day,
And moped, poor dog, 'twas well he didn't die, Crouched by the roadside how he watched the way. And sniffed the travelers as they passed him by— Hail, rain, or sunshine, sure 'twas all the same, He listened for the foot that never came.
"Tell him the house is lonesome-like and cold. The fire itself seems robbed of half Its light; But, maybe, 'tis my eyes are growing old. And things look dim before my failing sight.
For aii that, tell him 'twas myself that spun The shirts you bring, and stitched them every one.
"Give him my blessing, morning, noon, and night,
Tell him my prayers are offered for his good. That he may keep his Maker still In sight. And firmly stand, as his brave father stood, True to his name, his country, and his God, Faithful at home, and steadfast stlil abroad." |
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THE MEN OF TIPPERARY.
Let Britain boast her British hosts.
About them ail right little care we; Not British seas, nor British coasts, > Can match The Man of Tipperary.
Tall is his form, his heart is warm
His spirit light as any fairy; His wrath is fearful as the storm
That sweeps The Hilis of Tipperary.
Let woe or want oppress his friends, Though State and Fate proclaim despair, h6i
Against them all "the Pass" defends, And rights The Wrongs of Tipperary.
Yet meet him in his cabin rude, Or dancing with his dark-haired Mary,
You'u swear they knew no other mood Than mirth and Love in Tipperary.
Soft Is his girl's sunny eye, Her mien is mild, her step is airy,
Her heart is fond, her soul is high; Oh! she's The Pride of Tipperary.
You're free to share his scanty meal;
His plighted word he'll never vary. In vain they tried with gold and steel
To shake The Faith of Tipperary. |
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