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O should it please the pitying pow'rs to call me to
the sky, I'd claim a guardian angel's charge around my love
to fly; To guard him from all dangers, how happy should I be! For I love my love, because I know my love loves me. I'll make a strawy garland, I'll make it wondrous fine; With roses, lilies, daisies, I'll mix the eglantine; And I'll present it to my love when he returns from
sea; For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.
Oh, if I were a little bird, to build upon his breast!
For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.
Oh, if I were an eagle, to soar into the sky!
might spy; But ah, unhappy maiden! that love you ne'er shall
see; Yet I love my love, because I know my love loves me.
PADDY'S TRIP FROM DUBLIN.
TUNE" The Priest in his boots.”
'Twas bus'ness requir'd I'd from Dublin be straying,
I bargain'd the captain to sail pretty quick, But just at the moment the anchor was weighing,
A spalpeen, he wanted to play me a trick,
Says he, Paddy, go down stairs and fetch me some beer
now; Says I, by my shoul you're monstratiously kind; Then you'll sail away, and I'll look mighty queer now, When I come up and see myself all left behind.
With my palliluh, whilliluh, whilliluh, palliluh,
Whack, boderation, and Langolee.
Says the captain, We'll sink, or be all cast away;
And my life is insur’d, so the office must pay.
Tho' I lay quite sea-sick and speechless, poor elf, I could not help bawling, You spalpeen, be quiet; Do you think that there's nobody dead but yourself?
With my palliluh, &c.
Well, we got safe on shore, every son of his mother,
There I found an old friend, Mr. Paddy Macgee; Och Dermot, says he, is it you or your brother?
Says I, I've a mighty great notion it's me. Then I told him the bull we had made of our journey,
But to bull.making, Irishmen always bear blame; Says he, My good friend, though we've bulls in Hibernia, They've cuckolds in England, and that's all the same.
With my palliluh, &c. But from all sorts of cuckoldom Heaven preserve us,
For John Bull and Paddy Bull's both man and wife, And every
brave fellow who's kill'd in their service Is sure of a pension the rest of his life. Then who, in defence of a pair of such hearties,
Till he'd no legs to stand on, would e'er run away? Then a fig for the war, and **** Bonaparte ! King George and the Union shall carry the day. With my palliluh, &c.
O DID you not hear of Kate Kearney?
From the glance of her eye,
Shun danger and fly, For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney. For that eye is so modestly beaming, You'd ne'er think of mischief she's dreaming;
Yet oh! I can tell,
How fatal the spell
e'er meet this Kate Kearney, Who lives on the banks of Killarney,
Beware of her smile,
For many a wile
And who dares inhale
Her mouth's spicy gale,
Oh, yes! I have seen this Kate Kearney,
From her love-beaming eye
What mortal can fly, Unsubdued by the glance of Kate Kearney? For that eye, so seducingly beaming, Assures me of mischief she's dreaming,
And I feel 'tis in vain
To fly from the chain
At eve when I've met this Kate Kearney,
Her smile would impart
Thrilling joy to my heart,
I've felt the keen smart
Of love's fatal dart,
THE EXIL'D IRISHMAN'S LAMENTATION.
TUNE_" Erin go Bragh.”
Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh!
Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh.
oh! Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh ! Aggrandiz’d no great man, and I feel it alas, oh!
Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh ! Forc'd from my home, yea, from where I was born, To range the wide world, poor, helpless, forlorn, I look back with regret, and my heart-strings are torn: Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh.
* Ireland my darling, for ever adieu.
With principles pure, patriotic, and firm,
Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragb! Attach'd to my country, a friend to reform,
Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh! I supported old Ireland, was ready to die for’t; If her foes e'er prevail'd, I was well known to sigh for’t; But my faith I preserv'd, and am now forc'd to fly for’t:
Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh!
TUNE—" Sprig of Shillelah.”
With our faces so lean, and our duds on our backs.
With my Jill, sing Jack, sing Bibligo whack.
Says Norah, when you're on the ocean, my life,
For no babies have we, not a Jill nor a Jack.
With his JiH, sing Jack, &c. But when Paddy return’d, how it gladden'd his heart, To see his dear Norah so fine and so smart;
With her rings in her ears, and her silks on her back. And who furnish'd for you this cabin, says Pat? 'Twas Providence, says Norah, himself that did that: