"There is a rose in Ireland, I thought it would be mine: She's modest, etc. "And now that I am dying, this one request I crave, To place a marble tombstone above my humble grave! And on the stone these simple words I'd have engraven so— 'MacDonald lost his life for love of Irish Molly O!'" She's modest, etc. JENNY FROM BALLINASLOE. You lads that are funny, and call maids your honey, Has kept me unable to go to and fro; It was in September, I'll ever remember, This wonder of Nature I quickly espied; The earth could not show such a damsel, I know, I said to her: "Darling! this is a nice morning; "Sir, I did not invite you, nor yet dare not slight you; You're at your own option to act as you please: I am not ambitious, nor e'er was officious; I am never inclined to disdain or to tease. I love conversation, likewise recreation; I'm free with a friend, and I'm cold with a foe; But virtue's my glory, and will be till I'm hoary," Said nice little Jenny from Ballinasloe. 66 Most lovely of creatures! your beautiful features And feel for a creature that's tortured in woe. "Sir, yonder 's my lover; if he should discover Be pleased to withdraw, then, lest he might you see. You see, he's approaching; then don't be encroaching He has his large dog and his gun there also. Although you 're a stranger, I wish you from danger," Said nice little Jenny from Ballinasloe. I bowed then genteelly, and thanked her quite freely; I bid her adieu, and took to the road; So great was my trouble my pace I did double; My heart was oppressed and sank down with the load. And think on the hour I saw that sweet flower, JOHNNY, I HARDLY KNEW YE. While going the road to sweet Athy, While going the road to sweet Athy, While going the road to sweet Athy, A doleful damsel I heard cry: "Och Johnny, I hardly knew ye! With drums and guns, and guns and drums My darling dear, you look so queer, "Where are your eyes that looked so mild? Hurroo! hurroo! Where are your eyes that looked so mild? Where are your eyes that looked so mild, With drums, etc. Where are the legs with which you run? Where are the legs with which you run? Where are the legs with which you run With drums, etc. "It grieved my heart to see you sail, It grieved my heart to see you sail, It grieved my heart to see you sail, With drums, etc. "You haven't an arm and you haven't a leg, Hurroo! hurroo! You haven't an arm and you haven't a leg, You haven't an arm and you haven't a leg, Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye! With drums, etc. "I'm happy for to see you home, I'm happy for to see you home, I'm happy for to see you home, With drums, etc. "But sad as it is to see you so, But sad as it is to see you so, But sad as it is to see you so, And to think of you now as an object of woe, Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye! With drums and guns, and guns and drums My darling dear, you look so queer, THE LAMENTATION OF HUGH REYNOLDS.1 My name is Hugh Reynolds, I come of honest parents; By loving of a maid, one Catherine MacCabe, My life has been betrayed; she's a dear maid to me.2 1I copied this ballad from a broad-sheet in the collection of Mr. Davis; but could learn nothing of its date, or the circumstances connected with it. It is clearly modern, however, and founded on the story of an abduction, which terminated differently from the majority of these adventures. The popular sympathy in such cases is generally in favor of the gallant, the impression being that an abduction is never attempted without at least a tacit consent on the part of the girl. Whenever she appears as a willing witness for the prosecution it is said she has been tampered with by her friends, and public indignation falls upon the wrong object. The 'Lamentation' was probably written for or by the ballad singers; but it is the best of its bad class. The student would do well to compare it with the other street ballads in the collection; and with the simple old traditional ballads, such as 'Shule Aroon' and 'Peggy Bawn,' that he may discover if possible, where the charm lies that recommends strains so rude and naked to the most cultivated minds. These ballads have done what the songs of our greatest lyrical poets have not done--delighted both the educated and the ignorant. Whoever hopes for an equally large and contrasted audience must catch their simplicity, directness, and force, or whatever else constitutes their peculiar attraction.-Note by Sir Charles Gavan Duffy, ‘Ballad Poetry of Ireland.' 2" A dear maid to me." His love for her cost him dear. The country were bewailing my doleful situation, But still I'd expectation this maid would set me free; But, oh! she was ungrateful, her parents proved deceitful, And though I loved her faithful, she's a dear maid to me. Young men and tender maidens, throughout this Irish nation, For now my glass is run, and the hour it is come, And I must die for love and the height of loyalty: I thought it was no harm to embrace her in my arms, Or take her from her parents; but she's a dear maid to me. Adieu, my loving father, and you, my tender mother, Now, I can say no more; to the Law-board1 I must go, LANIGAN'S BALL.2 In the town of Athy one Jeremy Lanigan Who wouldn't forget him if he went to the wall; Myself, to be sure, got free invitations For all the nice boys and girls I'd ask, And in less than a minute the friends and relations 1 Law-board, gallows. 2 Lanigan's Ball.'-A version made up from several, and as near absolute correctness as seems possible. |