They work the pumps with double force,
He calmly points the helmsman's course,
His steady orders all obey,

And now the vessel on her way,
Pursues the pilot bent to save,
Or perish in the briny wave.

With anxious care her course they keep,
She struggling rides the angry deep,
In smoother water soon she sails,
The crew buzza, then warmly hails
The hardy pilot bent to save,
Or perish in the briny wave.

Ballinamona Oro.

YOU know I'm your priest, and your conscience is mine,

But if you grow wicked 'tis not a good sign;
So leave off your raking, and marry a wife,
And then, my dear boy, you are settled for life.
Sing Ballinamona oro,

A good merry wedding for me.

The banns being publish'd, to chapel we go,
The bride and bridemaidens in robes white as snow,
So modest her air, and so sheepish your look,
You out with your ring, and I pull out my book.
Sing Ballinamona oro,

A good merry wedding for me.

I thumb out the place, and I then read away-
She blushes at love, and she whispers Obey;
You take her dear hand for to have and to hold,
I shut up my book, and I pocket your gold.
Sing Ballinamona oro,

A snug little guinea for me.

The neighbours wish joy to the bridegroom and bride;

The pipers before us, you march side by side;
A plentiful dinner gives mirth to each face;
The piper plays up, and myself I say grace.
Sing Ballinamona oro,

A nice wedding dinner for me.

The joke now goes round, and the stocking is thrown;

The curtains are drawn, and you're both left alone: 'Tis then, my dear boy, I believe you at home; And hey for a christ'ning in nine months to come! Sing Ballinamona oro,

A good merry christ'ning for me.

How this World is giving to Lying.

THE passing bell was heard to toll!

John wail'd his loss with bitter cries;

The parson pray'd for Mary's soul,
The sexton hid her from all eyes.

T

"And art thou gone?"

Cried wretched John;

"O dear, 'twill kill me—I am dying !” Cried neighbour Sly,

While standing by,

"Lord, how this world is given to lying!"

The throng retir'd; John left alone,
He meditated 'mongst the tombs,
And spelt out, on the mould'ring stones,
What friends were gone to their long homes.
"You're gone before,"

Cried John, "No more!

I shall come soon-I'm almost dying!
Cried neighbour Sly,

Still standing by,

"Lord, how this world is given to lying !"

"Here lie the bones, Heaven's will be done! Of Farmer Slug ;-reader, would'st know Who to his mem'ry rais'd this stone: 'Twas his disconsolate widow !" Cried John, "Oh, oh,

To her I'll go,—

No doubt with grief the widow's dying!"
Cried neighbour Sly,

Still standing by,

"Lord, how this world is given to lying!"

Their mutual grief was short and sweet!
Scarcely the passing bell had ceas'd
When they were sped ;-the fun'ral meat
Was warm'd up for the marriage feast!

They vow'd and swore,
Now o'er and o'er,

They ne'er would part till both were dying!
Cried neighbour Sly,

Still standing by,

"Lord, how this world is given to lying!"

Again to hear the passing bell

John now a sort of hank'ring feels; Again his help-mate brags how well She can trip up a husband's heels; Again to the tomb

Each longs to come,

Again, with tears, and sobs, and sighing,
For neighbour Sly,

Again to cry

"Lord, how this world is given to lying!"

Bonny Bet,

NO more I'll court the town bred fair,
Who shines in artificial beauty,

For native charms, without compare,
Claim all my love, respect, and duty.

Oh, my bonny bonny Bet sweet blossom;
Was I a king, so proud to wear thee,
From off the verdant couch I'd bear theo,
To grace thy faithful lover's bosom.

Yet, ask me where those beauties lie,
I cannot say in smile or dimple;
In blooming cheek, or radiant eye;
'Tis happy nature, wide and simple.

Let dainty beaux for ladies pine,

And sigh in numbers trite and common;
Ye gods, one darling wish be mine,
And all I ask is lovely woman;

Come, dearest girl, the rosy bowl,

Like thy bright eye with pleasure dancing; My heaven art thou, so take my soul,

With rapture every sense entrancing.

The Thorn.

FROM the white blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe requested

A sprig, her fair breast to adorn ;
No, by heavens! I exclaim'd, may I perish
If ever I plant in that bosom a thorn.

Then I shew'd her a ring and implor'd her to marry,
She blush'd like the dawning of morn;
Yes, I'll consent, she replied, if you'll promise
That no jealous rival shall laugh me to scorn.

No, by heavens ! &c.