Rushed in, with panting haste to " see " And "welcome" Caoch O'Leary.

Oh! God be with those happy times!
Oh! God be with my childhood!
When I, bare-headed, roamed all day,
Bird-nesting in the wild-wood-
I'll not forget those sunny hours,
However years may vary;
I'll not forget my early friends,
Nor honest Caoch O'Leary.

Poor Caoch, and "Pinch," slept well that night,

And in the morning early,

He called me up to hear him play

"The wind that shakes the barley," And then he stroked my flaxen hair, And cried-" God mark my deary," And how I wept when he said "farewell,

And think of Caoch O'Leary."

Well--twenty summers had gone past,
And June's red sun was sinking,
When I, a man, sat by my door,
Of twenty sad things thinking.

A little dog came up the way,
His gait was slow and weary,
And at his tail a lame man limped
"Twas "Pinch" and Caoch O'Leary!

Old Caoch, but oh! how woe-begone!
His form is bowed and bending,
His fleshless hands are stiff and wan,
Ay-Time is even blending

The colors on his thread-bare "bag"-
And" Pinch" is twice as hairy
And "thin-spare" as when first I saw
Himself and Caoch O'Leary.

"God's blessing here," the wanderer cried,

'Far, far, be hell's black viper; Does any body hereabouts,

Remember Caoch the Piper?" With swelling heart I grasped his hand : The old man murmured " deary;

Are you the silky-headed child,

That loved poor Caoch O'Leary ?”

"Yes, yes," I said, the wanderer wept As if his heart was breaking

"And where, a vic machree," * he sobbed,

*Son of my heart.

"Is all the merry-making

I found here twenty years ago ?". "My tale," I sighed," might weary, there's none but me

Enough to say

To welcome Caoch O'Leary."

Vo, vo, vo!" the old man cried,
And wrung his hands in sorrow,
"Pray let me in astore machree,
And I'll go home to-morrow.
My peace is made'

I'll calmly leave

This world so cold and dreary,

And you shall keep my pipes and dog, And pray for Caoch O'Leary."

With "Pinch" I watched his bed that night;

Next day his wish was granted ; He died-and Father James was brought, And the Requiem Mass was chanted. The neighbors came ;--we dug his grave, Near Eily, Kate, and Mary,

And there he sleeps his last sweet sleepGod rest you! Caoch O'Leary.

MO CAILIN DONN.

GEORGE SIGERSON.

(May, 1859.)

AIR-"The River Roe," or "Irish Molly O."

THE blush is on the flower, and the bloom is on the tree,

And the bonnie, bonnie sweet birds are carolling their glee;

And the dews upon the grass are made diamonds by the sun,

All to deck a path of glory
Cáilin Donn !*

O, fair she is! O, rare she

er still to me!

ay own

s! O, dear

More welcome than the een leaf to winter-stricken tree,

More welcome than the blossom to the weary, dusty bee,

Is the coming of my true love-my own Cáilin Donn !

O, Sycamore ! O, Sycamore! wave, wave your banners green—

Let all your pennons flutter, O, Beech! before my queen

* Colleen Don, a "brown (haired) girl."

Ye fleet and honeyed breezes, to kiss her

hand ye run,

But my heart has passed before ye to my own Cáilin Donn !

O, fair she is! &c.

Ring out, ring out, O, Linden! your merry, leafy bells!

Unveil your brilliant torches, O, Chestnut to the dells:

Strew, strew the glade with splendor, for morn-it cometh on !

O, the morn of all delight to me-my own Cáilin Donn!

O, fair she is! &c.

She is coming, where we parted, where she wanders every day ;

There's a gay surprise before her who thinks me far away!

O, like hearing bugles triumph when the fight of Freedom's won,

Is the joy around your footsteps-my own Cáilin Donn !

O, fair she is! O, rare she is! O, dearer still to me !

More welcome than the green leaf to winter-stricken tree,