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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
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Perhaps ye leave a white-haired sire,
A sister, or a brother; Perhaps your heart has dared to part
Forever from a mother. If so, then many a time and oft,
Your better thoughts will roam, And mem'ry's pinions, strong and soft.
Will fly to your Erin home.
God speed, etc. |
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GROVES OF BLARNEY.
The groves of Blarney they are so charming,
All by the purling of swate silent brooks All decked with roses, which spontaneous grow there,
Planted in order by the swate rocky nooks. "Tis there the daisy and swate carnation,
The blooming pink and the rose so fair, Besides the lily and the daffy-down\-diliy
Flowers, that scent the swate fragrant air. 'Tts Lady Jeffers that owns this station, Like Alexander, or Queen Helen fair. There's no commander throughout this nation
For emulation can with her compare. There's castles round her that no nine-pounder Could dare to plunder her place of strength; But Oliver Crummeli he did her pummelt,
And made a breach in her battlement. There's grand walks there for contemplation,
And conversatiou in swate solitude; 'Tis there the lover may hear the dove, or
The gentle plover in the afternoon; And if a young lady should be so engaging
As for to take a walk in their shady bowers, 'Tis there her courter he might transport her
To some dark fort or under ground. 'Tis there's the cave where no daylight enters. But bats, rats, and badges are forever bred, Ail decked by natur', which makes It swater
Nor a coach and six or a feather bed. 'Tis there the lakes that are stored with perches,
And comely eels in the verdant mud. Besides the leeches, and the groves of beeches,
AH standing in order to guard the flood. There is the stone that whoever kisses, He never misses to grow eloquent— 'Tis he may clamber to a lady's chamber,
Or become a member of Parliament. A clever spouter, he'll sure turn out, or "An out-and-outer" to be let aione; Don't hope to hinder him, or to bewilder him—
Sure he's a pilgrim from the Blarney Stone. 'Tis there's the kitchen, hangs many a flitch in,
With the maids a-stltching upon the stair; Och, the bread and the bis'kle, the beef and the whiskey.
Faith, they'd make you frisky if you was but there. 'Tis there you'd see Peg Murphy's daughter
A-wasning praties foment the door, With Nancy Casey and Aunt Delancy,
All blood relations to my Lord Donoughmore. , There's statues gracing this noble place in,
All heathen goddesses so fair; Bold Neptune, Plutarch and Nicodemus,
AH mother-naked in the open air. So now to finish this brave narration,
Which I have not the genii for to entwine, But were I Homer or Nebuchadnezzar, "Tis in every feature that I'd make it shine. |
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