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One evening in June, as he was going home,

After the fair of Rathnagan,

What should he see from the branch of a tree,

But the corpse of a Hessian there hanging.

Says Denny, "those rogues have boots, I've brogues ;"

On the boots then he laid such a griper, He pulled with such might, and the boots were so tight,

That legs and boots came away with the piper.

Then Denny did run, for fear of being hung,

Till he came to Tim Kennedy's cabin : Says Tim from within, "I can't let you in, You'll be shot if you're caught there a rapping."

He went to the shed, where the cow was in bed,

With a wisp he began for to wipe her;

They lay down together on a seven-foot feather;

And the cow fell a hugging the piper.

Then Denny did yawn, as the day it did


And he streel'd off the boots of th
Hessian ;

The legs-by the law, he left on the straw And he gave them leg-bail for his mission.

When the breakfast was done, Tim sent out his son,

To make Denny jump up like a lamplighter;

When the legs there he saw, he roar'd like a jackdaw,

" Oh, daddy! the cow's ate the piper!"

"Musha bad luck on the beast-she'd a musical taste,

For to eat such a beautiful chanter; Arrah! Patrick avic, take a lump of a stick, Drive her off to Glenhealy-we'll cant her."

Mrs. Kennedy bawl'd, and the neighbors were call'd,

They began for to humbug and gibe her; To the churchyard Tim walked, with the legs in a box,

And the cow will be hung for the piper.

The cow she was drove a mile or two off,

To the fair at the side of Glenhealy, And there she was sold for four guineas in gold,

To the clerk of the parish, Tim Daly. They went to a tent, the luck-penny was spent,

The clerk being a jolly old swiper. Who d'ye think was there, playing the "Rakes of Kildare,"

But poor Denny Byrne, the piper!

Then Tim gave a bolt, like a half-drunken colt,

At the piper he gazed like a gommack, He said, "By the powers! I thought these eight hours

You were playing in driman dhu's stomach !"

Then Denny observed how the Hessian was served,

And they all wish'd Nick's cure to the griper;

For grandeur they met, their whistles


they wet,

And like devils they danced round the




I HAVE heard the mavis singing
Its love song to the morn,
I've seen the dew-drop clinging

To the rose just newly born; But a sweeter song has cheered me

At the evening's gentle close, And I've seen an eye still brighter

Than the dew-drop on the rose. "Twas thy voice, my gentle Mary,

And thy artless, winning smile, That made this world an Eden, Bonnie Mary of Argyle.

Though thy voice may lose its sweetness,
And thine eye its brightness too,
Though thy step may lack its swiftness,
And thy hair its sunny hue,
Still to me wilt thou be dearer
Than all the world shall own;
I have loved thee for thy beauty,
But not for that alone.

I have watch'd thy heart, dear Mary,
And its goodness was the wile
That has made thee mine forever,
Bonnie Mary of Argyle.



"I want to know what it says, the sea-what is it that it keeps on saying ?"-Paul, in "Dombey and Son."


"WHAT are the wild waves saying,
Sister, the whole day long,
That ever, amid our playing,
I hear but their low, lone song?
Not by the sea-side only-

There it sounds wild and free ;
But at night, when 'tis dark and lonely,
In dreams it is still with me."

"Brother! I hear no singing: 'Tis but the rolling wave, Ever its lone course winging

Over some ocean cave! 'Tis but the noise of water

Dashing against the shore,
And the wind, from
Mingling with its roar."

some bleaker

No, no! it is something greater
That speaks to the heart alone:
The voice of the great Creator
Dwells in that mighty tone!

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