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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 bawld out, and lustily callid 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 Eoeleen.' 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.

When shall the swan, her death-note singing,

Sleep with wings in darkness furld?
When shall heav'n, its sweet bell ringing

Call my spirit from this stormy world?
Sadly, oh Moyle! to thy winter-wave weeping,

Fate bids me languish long ages away:
Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping,

Still doth the pure light its dawning delay.
When will that day-star, mildly springing,

Warm our isle with peace and love? When will Heav'n, its sweet bell ringing,

Call my spirit to the fields above?"

PADDY O'FLANAGAN. 'Twas Paddy O'Flanagan set out one morning

From Dublin, sweet city, to London on foot, In an old tatter'd jacket, all foppery scorning,

With a shoe on his leg and his neck in a boot, Musha whack! in no time he walked over the water,

And soon set his head on England's famed shore, While for joy of his safety while his stomach did totter,

He sung Teddy O'Rielly and Molly Ashtore,
With his philulu hubbuboo hugamauairnee,

Musha gra botheration and smalliloo huh.
A place he soon got when in London arrived, sir,

To brush up a gemmen and wait on his coat,
Where he soon learnt to know that just four beans

make five, sir, And could tell you a tale with his tongue down his

throat. Now one day, while Pat was his master attending,

In his study, where letters around him did lay, When he begged hard for one to his friends to be send

ing, As 'twouid save him from writing and be the best way. 5

With his philulu, &c.

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 fed 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 forgivin, 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. hoe '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 Rittle, 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 lovd, 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! Cushlamacree,
Thou art lost to me!

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