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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
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IRISH CASTLES.
"Sweet Norah, eome here, and look into the fire;
Maybe In Its embers good luck we might see; But don't come too near, or your glances so shining,
Will put It clean out, like the sunbeams, machree!
"Just look 'twlxt the sods, where so brightly they're burning;
There's a sweet little valley, with rivers and trees,— And a house on the bank, quite as big as the squire's—
Who knows but some day we'll have something like these?
"And now there's a coach, and four galloping horses,
A coachman to drive, and a footman behind; That betokens some day we will keep a fine carriage,
And dash through the streets with the speed o£ the wind."
As Dermot waa speaking, the rain down the chimney Soon quenched the turf-fire on the hollowed hearth-stone
While mansion and carriage in smoke-wreaths evanished, And left the poor dreamers dejected and lone.
Then Norah to Dermot these words softly whisper'd,—
" 'Tls better to strive, than to vainly desire; And our little hut hy the roadside Is better
Than palace, and servants, and coach—in the fire!"
"Tls years since poor Dermot his fortune was dreaming—
Since Norah's sweet counsel effected Its cure; For ever since then hath he toiled night and morning,
And now his snug mansion looks down on the Sulr. |
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I WAS THE BOY FOR BEWITCHING 'EM.
I was the boy for bewitching 'em,
Whether good-humor'd or coy; All cried, when I was beseeching 'em,
"Do what you will with me, joy." "Daughters, be cautious and steady,"
Mothers would cry out for fear. "Won't you take care now of Teddy? Oh! he's the devil, my dear!" Chorus.—For I was the boy for bewitching 'em, Whether good-humor'd or coy; All cried, when I was beseeching 'em, "Do what you will with me, joy."
Prom ev'ry quarter I gather'fl 'em
Very few rivals had I; If I found any, I feather'd 'em,
That made 'em plagully shy. Pat Mooney my Shellah once meeting,
I twlg'd him beginning his clack; Says he "At my heart I've a beating,"
Says I, "Then take one at your back."
For I was the boy, etc. Many a lass that would fly away
When other wooers hut spoke, Once if I took her, I die away,
There was an end of the joke. Beauties, no matter how cruel,
Hundreds of lads though they cross'd When I came nigh to them, jewel,
Melted like mud In a frost.
For I was the boy, etc. |
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