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Like a fierce avenging flame,
Embracing all her frame,
Was the vision of her shame

To the Shan van Vocht!

The sad sea carolled wild
To the Shan van Vocht!
And the west wind breathed all mild
On the Shan van Vocht!
The waves they sang their psalm,
The west wind brought its balm;
But nought the grief could calm

Of the Shan van Vocht'

And thus the live-long night

Grieved the Shan van Vocht,
While moon and sea shone bright
On the Shan van Vocht;
Till at length, at break of day,
She knelt her down to pray,
Then homeward took her way,

Did the Shan van Vocht.

What thoughts the dawn awoke
In the Shan van Vocht,
As the sunrise slowly broke
On the Shan van Vocht;

Whether terror and despair
Fled from the morning air,
And hope was new-born there,
For the Shan van Vocht-

None know. Still sad and dumb
Is the Shan van Vocht,
But 'tis thought a time will come
When the Shan van Vocht,
New ramparted with truth,
New glorified with youth,
No more can be, in sooth,

Called the Shan van Vocht.

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TIPPERARY RECRUITING SONG.
STREET BALLAD.

T is now we'd want to be wary, boys,
The recruiters are out in Tipperary,

boys;

If they offer a glass, we 'll wink as we

pass――

We're ould birds for chaff in Tipperary, boys.

Then hurrah for the gallant Tipperary boys,

Although we 're "cross and contrairy,"

boys,

The never a one will handle a gun, Except for the Green and Tipperary, boys.

Now mind what John Bull did here, my boys,

In the days of our famine and fear, my boys:

He burned and sacked, he plundered and racked,

Ould Ireland of Irish to clear, my boys.

Now Bull wants to pillage and rob, my boys,

And put the proceeds in his fob, my boys;

But let each Irish blade just stick to his trade,

And let Bull do his own dirty job, my boys.

So never to 'list be in haste, my boys, Or a glass of drugged whiskey to taste, my boys;

If to India you'll go, 'tis to grief and to woe,

And to rot and to die like a beast, my boys.

But now he is beat for men, my boys, His army is getting so thin, my boys, With the fever and ague, the sword and the plague,

Oh! the devil a fear that he 'll win, my boys.

Then mind not the robbing ould schemer, boys,

Though he says that he 's richer than Damer, boys,

Though he bully and roar, his power is o'er,

And his black heart will shortly be tamer, boys.

Now is n't Bull peaceful and civil, boys, In his mortal distress and his evil, boys? But we'll cock each caubeen when his serjeants are seen,

And we 'll tell them to go to the devil, boys.

Then hurrah for the gallant Tipperary boys!

Altho' we're cross and contrairy, boys, The never a one will handle a gun, Except for the Green and Tipperary, boys.

CAOCH THE PIPER.

J. KEEGAN.t

ONE winter's day, long, long ago,
When I was a little fellow,
A piper wandered to our door,
Grey-headed, blind, and yellow-
And, oh! how glad was my young heart,
Though earth and sky looked dreary-
To see the stranger and his dog--

Poor "Pinch" and Caoch O'Leary.

And when he stowed away his "bag,"
Crossed-barred with green and yellow,
I thought and said, "In Ireland's ground
There 's not so fine a fellow."
And Fineen Burke, and Shaun Magee,
And Eily, Kate, and Mary,

* Pronounced Kay-uch, meaning "The Blind." † Born of humble parents in the Queen's County, in a village by the Nore, died in 1849, about forty years of age.

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