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— Brian O'Linn and his wife and wife's mother, The bridge broke down and they all tumbled in— BY MEMORY INSPIRED. 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. 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. 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 1 The poisoning of Maguire that is gone, boys-gone: How did Lord Edward die? But he left his handiwork on Major Swan! 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— gone. Here's the memory of the friends that are gone! CHARMING MARY NEAL. I'm a bold undaunted Irishman, my name is John McCann. 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, Like a moving beauty bright, to appear she did not fail, With wrath and indignation, her father loud did call, 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 steal, And that was twice I did elope with charming Mary Neal. Our coach it was got ready to Derry for to go, It was to Captain Nelson our passage money paid, We joined our hands in wedlock bands before we did set sail, 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 father wrote me a letter as you may understand, COLLEEN RUE.1 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." THE CROPPY BOY. It was very early in the spring, It was early in the night, The yeoman cavalry gave me a fright; "T was in the guard-house where I was laid, As I was passing by my father's door, 'As I was walking up Wexford Street And for one bare guinea swore my life away. |