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,
Naked I'll wander wherever it blows;
And if my father should try to recover me,

Sure it won't be by describing my clothes.
The music I hear now takes hold of my ear now,
And leads me all over the world by the nose;
So I follow'd his bag-pipes so sweet,

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,
Souse to the bottom just like a blind pup!

I roar'd and I bawl'd out, and lustily call'd out,
O Paddy my friend, don't you mean to come up?
He was dead as a nail in the door,

Poor Paddy was laid on the shelf,

So I took up his pipes on the shore,
And now I've set up for myself,

With my fara lara, to be sure I have not got the knack,
To play fara lara, &c.

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,
gs in darkness furl'd?
n, its sweet bell ringing
From this stormy world?

to thy winter-wave weeping,
anguish long ages away:
arkness doth Erin lie sleeping,
pure light its dawning delay.
ay-star, mildly springing,
with peace and love?
n, its sweet bell ringing,
to the fields above?

DDY O'FLANAGAN.

97

Flanagan set out one morning
sweet city, to London on foot,
I jacket, all foppery scorning,
his leg and his neck in a boot,
no time he walked over the water,
his head on England's famed shore,
his safety while his stomach did totter,
y O'Rielly and Molly Ashtore,
hubbuboo hugamauairnee,

heration and smalliloo huh.

got when in London arrived, sir,
gemmen and wait on his coat,
learnt to know that just four beans
- 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,
Crammed full of live pigeons to give to a friend,
Enraged at their fluttering, he thought it was better
To set them at large, and their misery end;

Then on, joy, he went to the place where directed,
But the door had no knocker, so what does he do?
Faith, he knocked at the next, where the servant at-
tending,

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,
Who said, in the letter here's pigeons I find,
By jabus, says Pat, that's a very good joke,

For they fled from the basket and left me behind,
The gentleman swore for the loss he must pay,
Or on losing his place for a certain depend;
Pat replied, to your offer I'll not once say nay,
If you'll be so kind as the money to lend.

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,
That Sergeant Snap met Paddy Carey,

A claner boy was never seen,
Brisk a bee, and light as fairy,
His brawny shoulders four feet square,
His cheeks like thumping red potatoes,
His legs would make a chairman stare,
And Pat was loved by all the ladies,
Old and young, grave and sad-
Deaf and dumb, dull and mad-
Waddling, twaddling, limping, squinting,
Light, tight, and airy!

All the sweet faces

At Limerick races,

From Mullinavat to Magherafelt,
At Paddy's beautiful name would melt;
The sowls would cry

And look so shy,

Och! Cushlamacree,

Did you never see,

The jolly boy, the darling boy,
The coaxing boy, the ladies toy!
Nimble-footed, black-eyed, rosy cheek, curly-head-

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;
By the powers! he listed Paddy Carey,
Tight and sound, strong and light:
Cheeks so round, eyes so bright!

Whistling, humming, drinking drumming,
Light, tight and airy!

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,
Och, Pat,' she cried, go buy the ring;
Here's cash galore, my darling honey;'
Says Pat, you sowl! I'll do that thing,'
And clapt his thumb upon her money!
Gimlet eye, sausage nose,—
Pat so sly, ogle throws,

Learing, tittering, jeering, frittering,
Sweet widow Leary!

All the sweet faces, &c.

When Pat had thus his fortune made
He pressed the lips of Mrs. Leary,
And mounting straight a large cockade,
In captain's boots struts Paddy Carey;
He, grateful, praised her shape, her back,
To others like a dromedary;

Her eyes, that seem'd their strings to crack,
Were cupid's darts to Captain Carey!
Neat and sweet, no alloy,-

All complete love and joy: Ranting, roaring, soft adoring, Dear widow Leary!

All the sweet faces

At Limerick races,

From Mullinavat to Magherafelt,
At Paddy's promotion sigh and melt;
The sowls all cry,

As the groom struts by,
Och! Cushlama cree,
Thou art lost to me!