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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. 89
And she, who so loved her, is slain (the poor mother).
Struck dead In a day, by a shadow unseen! And the home we now loved, Is the home of another,
And—lost Is Maureen! Sweet Shannon! a moment by thee let me ponder; A moment look back at the things that have been; Then, away to the world where the ruined ones wander.
To seek for Maureen! Pale peasant, perhaps, 'neath the frown of high heaven,
She roams the dark desert of sorrow unseen, Unpltled,—unknown; but I—I Bhall know even The ghost of Maureen! |
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THE SPRIG OF SHILLELAH.
Och, love is the soul of a nate Irishman, He loves all the lovely, loves all that he can,
With his sprig of shlllelah and shamrock so green. His heart is good-humour'd—'tis honest and sound, No malice or hatred Is there to be found, He courts and he marries, he drinks and he fights, For love, all for love for In that he delights,
With his sprig of shlllelah and shamrock so green.
Who has e'er had the luck to see Donnybrook fair? An Irishman all In his glory is there,
With his sprig of shillelab and shamrock so green: His clothes spick and span new, without e'er a speck, A neat Barcelona tied round hla white neck: He goes to a tent and he spends half a crown. He meets with a friend—and for love knacks him down
With a sprig of shlllclah and shamrock so green.
At evening returning, as homeward he goes,
His heart soft with whiskey, his head soft with blows
From a sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green, He meets with his Shelah, who, blushing a smile, Cries, "Get ye gone, Pat," yet consents all the while— To the priest then they go—and, nine months after that, A fine baby cries out "How d'ye do, father Pat,
With your sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green."
Bless the country, say I, that gave Patrick his birth, Bless the land of the oak, and Its neighbouring earth.
Where grows the shlllelah and shamrock so green. May the sons of the Thames, the Tweed, and the Shannon, Drub the foe who dares plant on our confines a cannon: United and happy, at loyalty's shrine, May the rose, leek, and tblstle long flourish and twine Round a sprig of shlllelah and shamrock so green. |
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NORAH DARLING.
Norah darling, don't believe them,
Never heed their flattering wiles. Trust a heart that loves thee dearly.
Lives but in thy sunny smiles— I must leave thee, Norah darling.
But I leave my heart with thee; Keep It, for 'tis true and faithful
As a loving heart can be.
When the stars are round me gllst'ntng,
And the moon shines bright above, Perhaps, my Norah, thou'lt be list'ning
To another tale of love. Perhaps they'll tell thee I'll forget thee.
Teach thy gentle heart to fear; Oh, my Norah, never doubt me—
Don't believe them, Norah dear. |
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