With a fara lara loo, ogh! hone, how he handled the drone, And then such sweet music he blew, 'twould have melted the heart of a stone. Your pipe, says I, Paddy, so neatly comes over me, Sure it won't be by describing my clothes. And sang as I leap'd like a frog, Adieu to my family seat, So pleasantly placed in a bog; And then such sweet music he blew, 'twould have melted the heart of a stone. With my fara lara, &c. Full five years I follow'd him, nothing could sunder us, Till he one morning had taken a sup, And slipp'd from a bridge into a river just under us, I roar'd and I bawl'd out, and lustily call'd out, Poor Paddy was laid on the shelf, So I took up his pipes on the shore, With my fara lara, to be sure I have not got the knack, THE SONG OF FIONNUALA. TUNE- Arrah, my dear Eveleen.' SILENT, oh Moyle! be the roar of thy water, Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose! While murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. IRISH SONGS. wan, her death-note singing, to thy winter-wave weeping, DDY O'FLANAGAN. 97 Flanagan set out one morning heration and smalliloo huh. got when in London arrived, sir, you a tale with his tongue down his hile Pat was his master attending, where letters around him did lay, Soon after being sent with a basket and letter, Then on, joy, he went to the place where directed, Cried Pat it's your knocker I want and not you. With your philulu, &c. Being brought 'fore the gemmen, he gave him the note, For they fled from the basket and left me behind, With your philulu, &c. Being pleas'd with the joke, poot Pat got forgiv'n, For though blunder on blunder, no harm there was meant, And if he's not dead, with his master he's living; And when not out of humor, is always content, Nay, more, Paddy Flanagan joins in the wish, That the cares of our friends may soon find a de crease, That war may be drown'd on dry land with the fish, And the world forever taste blessings of peace. PADDY CAREY'S FORTUNE. "Twas at the town of nate Clogheen, A claner boy was never seen, All the sweet faces At Limerick races, From Mullinavat to Magherafelt, And look so shy, Och! Cushlamacree, Did you never see, The jolly boy, the darling boy, ed, Paddy Carey! O sweet Paddy! Beautiful Paddy! Nate little, tight little, Paddy Carey! His heart was made of Irish oak, Yet soft as streams from sweet Killarney; His tongue was tipt with a bit o' the brogue, But the devil a bit at all of the blarney, Now Serjeant Snap, so shy and keen, While Pat was coaxing duck-legg'd Mary, A shilling slipt, so nate and clean; Whistling, humming, drinking drumming, All the sweet faces, &c. The sowls wept loud, the crowd was great When waddling forth, came widow Leary; Though she was crippled in her gait, Her brawney arms clasp'd Paddy Carey, Learing, tittering, jeering, frittering, All the sweet faces, &c. When Pat had thus his fortune made Her eyes, that seem'd their strings to crack, All complete love and joy: Ranting, roaring, soft adoring, Dear widow Leary! All the sweet faces At Limerick races, From Mullinavat to Magherafelt, As the groom struts by, |