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The uppers were broke and the soles were thin— "They'll do me for dancing," says Brian O'Linn!

Brian O'Linn had no watch for to wear,
He bought a fine turnip and scooped it out fair,
He slipped a live cricket right under the skin-
"They'll think it is ticking," says Brian O'Linn!

Brian O'Linn was in want of a brooch,
He stuck a brass pin in a big cockroach,
The breast of his shirt he fixed it straight in-
"They'll think it's a diamond," says Brian O'Linn!

Brian O'Linn went a-courting one night,
He set both the mother and daughter to fight-
"Stop, stop," he exclaimed, "if you have but the tin,
I'll marry you both," says Brian O'Linn!

Brian O'Linn went to bring his wife home,
He had but one horse, that was all skin and bone-
"I'll put her behind me, as nate as a pin,
And her mother before me," says Brian O'Linn!

Brian O'Linn and his wife and wife's mother,
They all crossed over the bridge together,
The bridge broke down and they all tumbled in-
"We'll go home by water," says Brian O'Linn!


By memory inspired
And love of country fired,

The deeds of MEN I love to dwell upon;
And the patriotic glow

Of my Spirit must bestow

A tribute to O'Connell that is gone, boys-gone.
Here's a memory to the friends that are gone!

In October 'Ninety-Seven

May his soul find rest in Heaven!—

William Orr to execution was led on:

The jury, drunk, agreed

That IRISH was his creed:

For perjury and threats drove them on, boys-on.
Here's the memory of John Mitchel that is gone!

In 'Ninety-Eight-the month July-
The informer's pay was high;

When Reynolds gave the gallows brave MacCann;
But MacCann was Reynolds' first-
One could not allay his thirst;

So he brought up Bond and Byrne that are gone, boys-gone. Here's the memory of the friends that are gone!

We saw a nation's tears

Shed for John and Henry Sheares; Betrayed by Judas, Captain Armstrong: We may forgive, but yet

We never can forget


The poisoning of Maguire that is gone, boys-gone:
Our high Star and true Apostle that is gone!

How did Lord Edward die?
Like a man, without a sigh!

But he left his handiwork on Major Swan!

But Sirr, with steel-clad breast

And coward heart at best,

Left us cause to mourn Lord Edward that is gone, boys-gone. Here's the memory of our friends that are gone!

September, Eighteen-Three,

Closed this cruel history,

When Emmet's blood the scaffold flowed upon.

Oh, had their spirits been wise,

They might then realize

Their freedom-but we drink to Emmet that is gone, boys


Here's the memory of the friends that are gone!


I'm a bold undaunted Irishman, my name is John McCann.
I'm a native of sweet Donegal, convenient to Strabane;
For the stealing of an heiress, I lie in Lifford Jail
And her father swears he will me hang for his daughter Mary


Whilst in cold irons I lay bound, my love sent word to me: "Don't fear my father's anger, for I will set you free.”

1 Father Tom Maguire, the well-known Catholc controversialist.

Her father gave consent to let me out on bail,

And I was to stand for trial for his daughter Mary Neal.

Her father kept her close confined, for fear I should her see,
And on my trial day, was my prosecutor to be;
Like a moving beauty bright, to appear she did not fail,
She freed me from all danger, she's my charming Mary Neal.

With wrath and indignation, her father loud did call,
And when my trial was over, I approached the garden wall,
My well-known voice soon reached her ears, which echoed hill

and dale,

Saying, "You 're welcome here, my Johnny dear," says charming Mary Neal.

We both sat on a sunny bank, and there we talked awhile. He says, "My dear, if you will comply, I'll free you from exile:

The Shamrock is ready from Derry to set sail;

So come with me, off to Quebec, my charming Mary Neal."

She gave consent, and back she went, and stole the best of clothes,

And to no one in the house her secret she made known;

Five hundred pounds of ready gold from her father she did


And that was twice I did elope with charming Mary Neal.

Our coach it was got ready to Derry for to go,
And there we bribed the coachman for to let no one know;
He said he would keep secret, and never would reveal.
So off to Derry there I went with charming Mary Neal.

It was to Captain Nelson our passage money paid,
And in the town of Derry it was under cover laid.
We joined our hands in wedlock bands before we did set sail,
And her father's wrath I value not-I love my Mary Neal.

It was over the proud and swelling seas our ship did gently glide,

And on our passage to Quebec, six weeks a matchless tide; Until we came to Whitehead Beach we had no cause to wail, On Crossford Bay I thought that day I lost my Mary Neal.

On the ninth of June, in the afternoon, a heavy fog came on; The captain cries, "Look out, my boys! I fear we are all gone."

Our vessel on a sandy bank was driven by a gale,
And forty more washed overboard, along with Mary Neal.

With the help of boats and ship's crew, five hundred they were saved,

And forty more of them also have met a watery grave.
Her yellow locks I soon espied came floating on the gale,
I jumped into the raging deep and saved my Mary Neal.

Her father wrote me a letter as you may understand,
That if I would go back again he would give me all his land.
I wrote him back an answer, and that without fail,
"That I'm the heir of your whole estate by your daughter
Mary Neal."


As I roved out one summer's morning, speculating most curiously,

To my surprise, I soon espied a charming fair one approaching me;

I stood awhile in deep meditation, contemplating what should I do,

But recruiting all my sensations, I thus accosted the Colleen Rue:

"Are you Aurora, or the beauteous Flora, Euterpasia, or Venus bright?

Or Helen fair, beyond compare, that Paris stole from her Grecian's sight?

Thou fairest creature, you have enslaved me, I am intoxicated

by Cupid's clue,

Whose golden notes and infatuation deranged my ideas for you, Colleen Rue."

"Kind sir, be easy, and do not tease me, with your false praise so jestingly,

Your dissimulations and invitations, your fantastic praises, seducing me.

I am not Aurora, or the beauteous Flora, but a rural maiden to all men's view,

That's here condoling my situation, and my appellation is the

Colleen Rue."

1 Cáilin Ruadh, red (haired) girl.

"Was I Hector, that noble victor, who died a victim of Grecian skill.

Or was I Paris, whose deeds were various, as an arbitrator on Ida's hill,

I would roam through Asia, likewise Arabia, through Pennsylvania seeking you,

The burning regions, like famed Vesuvius, for one embrace of the Colleen Rue."

"Sir, I am surprised and dissatisfied at your tantalizing insolence,

I am not so stupid, or enslaved by Cupid, as to be dupèd by your eloquence,

Therefore desist from your solicitations, I am engaged, I declare it's true,

To a lad I love beyond all earthly treasures, and he'll soon embrace his Colleen Rue."


It was very early in the spring,
The birds did whistle and sweetly sing,
Changing their notes from tree to tree,
And the song they sang was old Ireland free.

It was early in the night,

The yeoman cavalry gave me a fright;
The yeoman cavalry was my downfall,
And taken was I by Lord Cornwall.

"T was in the guard-house where I was laid,
And in a parlor where I was tried;
My sentence passed and my courage low
When to Dungannon I was forced to go.

As I was passing by my father's door,
My brother William stood at the door;
My aged father stood at the door,
And my tender mother her hair she tore.

'As I was walking up Wexford Street

My own first cousin I chanced to meet;
My own first cousin did me betray,
And for one bare guinea swore my life away.

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