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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. 155
Fine children we will have, for you must mind'that,
There will be Darby, Judy, Barney, Pat;
There will he Mary, so meek, and Kitty, so bluff—
And stop! stop! she cries, have you not got enough?
I will not, says I, nor I won't be content,
'Till once I have as many as there's days in the Lent;
How the people they will stare when we go out for a stroll.
When we are promenading by the old bog-hole.
Arrah! cushla mavoureen, etc.
By the hokey! says she, I can scarcely refuse, For Barney, the blarney he knows how to use; He has bothered my heart with the picture he has drawn, If I thought I could trust you, the job might be done. Holy murther! says I, do you doubt what I say? . If I thought I could trust you, I'd swear half a day; Oh, no, says she, it's of no use at all, And she gave her consent by the old bog-hole. Chorus.—
Then give me your hand, my Joys and delights,
Be alsy, you blackguard, until it's all right;
And when we are wed we'll kiss and condole,
And we will go to dig for eels in the old bog-hole. |
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KATTY, DARLING.
Now the flow'rs are blushing, Katty, darling.
And the birds are warbling on each tree, Heed not your mother, Katty. darling,
I'm only now waiting for thee. The sun Is brightly beaming.
And my heart with love is beating high; Oh! then hasten quickly, Katty, darling.
Ere the sun has left the morning sky; Katty, Katty, Katty, Katty.
Oh! then hasten quickly, Katty, darling. Ere the sun has left the morning sky.
Yon grove shall hide us, Katty, darling,
While the sun Is sparkling o'er the lea; Oh! then meet me early, Katty, darling,
And love's truth I'll whisper to thee. The golden rays around are shining,
But the lustre of thy bright eye To me is dearer, Katty, darling,
Than the rays that sparkle in the sky. Katty, Katty, Katty, Katty,
Oh! then hasten quickly, Katty, darling, Ere the sun has left the morning sky. |
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THE SOLDIER OF ERIN.
The shadows of darkness around him were falling,
And eve's lonely star lit the wanderer's way, When the harp of the minstrel, his footsteps recalling,
The brave soldier paused at the heart-moving lay. Oh! dear to my soul in the springtime of feeling.
Ere the blight of the cnld world had swept o'er its flowers; Was that strain of my childhood from tender lips stealing,
In fair Connamara's now desolate bow'rs.
Sweet song of my boyhood, still deeper and deeper,
It sinks on my heart as I list to the strain; Like a dream of the dead that steals o'er the sleeper.
And brings back the lost and the loved ones again. Dear voice of the past, like the lone harp of Tara,
It wakes 'mid the ruins of all I deplore; Farewell to thy green hills, my fair Connamara,
First home of my heart, I shall see thee no more. |
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