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Jrish and Comic Songs.
ONE BOTTLE MORE.
Assist me, ye lads who have hearts void of guile,
roar, And the whack from shillelah brought six bottles more.
Slow Phæbus had shone through our window so bright,
OH! WHEN I BREATH'D A LAST ADIEU.
TUNE" Within this village dwells a maid."
In life's unclouded spring;
That rov'd on Fancy's wing?
From Kathleen's beaming eye:
I drank each melting sigh.
On all our transports dwell?
Farewell, my love-farewell !”
KITTY OF COLERAINE.
As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping,
With a pitcher of milk, from the fair of Coleraine, When she saw me she stumbl'd, the pitcher it tumbld,
And all the sweet butter-milk water'd the plain. Oh, what shall I do now, 'twas looking at you now,
Sure, sure such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again, 'Twas the pride of my dairy, O Blarney M'Cleary,
Your sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine. I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her,
That such a misfortune should give her such pain, A kiss then I gave her, and before I did leave her,
She vow'd for such pleasure she'd break it again.
Misfortunes will never come single 'tis plain,
An emerald set in the ring of the sea;
queen of the west, the world's Cushlamachree. Thy gates open wide to the poor and the stranger;
There smiles hospitality, hearty and free:
And the wand'rer is welcom'd with Cushlamachree. Thy sons they are brave, but the battle once over,
In brotherly peace with their foes they agree;
Then flourish for ever, my dear native Erin,
While sadly I wander, an exile from thee! And firm as thy mountains, no injury fearing,
May Heaven defend its own Cushlamachree.
THE IRISH SMUGGLERS.
From Brighton two Paddies walk'd under the cliff,
For pebbles and shells to explore, When, lo! a small barrel was dropp'd from a skiff
, Which floated, at length, to the shore. Says Dermot to Pat, we the owner will bilk
To-night we'll be merry and frisky;
Dear joy, 'tis a barrel of whisky.
Says Pat, I'll soon broach it, О fortunate lot!
(Now Pat you must know, was no joker ;) I'll go to Tom Murphy, who lives in the cot,
And borrow his kitchen hot poker. 'Twas said, and 'twas done—the barrel was bord,
(No Bacchanals ever felt prouder,) When Paddy found out a small error on board
The whisky, alas! was gunpowder.
With sudden explosion, he flew o'er the ocean,
And high in air, sported a leg;
So he kept a tight hold of the keg.
I'm not to be chous'd, Mr. Wiseman,
And, by St. Patrick, I'll tell the exciseman,