Sigh who will for golden treasure, Mine's a gem that gold surpasses, Fanny's smiles give wealth and pleasure, Gifts reserved for the Dublin lasses. O, the dear, delighting, etc. COLLEEN BAWN. 'TWAS on a bright morning in summer Oh! many times afther ye met me, A suilish machree. I haven't the manners or graces Of the girls in the world where yo move, I havn't their beautiful faces, But oh! I've a heart that can love; If it plaise ye, I'll dress me in satin, An' jewels I'll put on my brow, But oh! don't be afther forgettin' Your purty girl milking her cow. ERIN MAVOURNEEN. WHEN the pure sense of honor shall cease to inspire thee, And kind hospitality leaves thy gay shore ; When the nations that know thee no longer admire thee, Then, Erin mavourneen, I'll love thee no more. When the trumpet of fame shall cease to proclaim thee, Of warriors the nurse, in the ages of yore, When the muse and the record of genius disclaim thee, Then, Erin mavourneen, I'll love thee no more. When thy brave sons no longer are generous and witty, And cease to be loved by the fair they adore, When thy daughters no longer ar virtuous and pretty, Then, Erin mavourneen, I'll love thee no more. MY GRA GAL MACHREE. O, BLOOMING and fair Was the young nymph who stole The love of my heart And the peace of soul; my Two eyes, like the stars, The long, curling hair On her white bosom hung, Fell sweet from her tongue, That ner dear heart was mine And they say that my love Will soon change and grow cold; But their words are all false, For I'll love only thee, Till death cools this heart, My Gra Gal Machree. O, blooming and fair Was the young nymph who stole And the peace of my soul ; Shining bright o'er the sea, WE MAY BE HAPPY YET. O, SMILE as thou wert wont to smile, be fore the weight of care Had crushed thy heart, and for a while left only sorrow there; Some thoughts perchance 'twere best to quell, some impulse to forget, O'er which should mem'ry cease to dwell, we may be happy yet. O, never name departed days, nor vows you whispered then, Round which too sad a feeling plays to trust their tones again; Regard their shadows round thee cast as if we ne'er had met, And thus unmindful of the past, we may be happy yet. THE TAIL IV ME COAT. I LARNED me reading an' writing, He and I had many a scrimmage, But not a gossoon in the village, I an illegant hand was at courting, Till cupid, that blaggard, while sporting, A big arrow sint smack through me heart. Miss O'Conner, I live straight forninst her, And tindher lines to her I wrote, Who dare say a black word against her, Why I'd thread on the tail iv their coat. A bog-trotter wan, Micky Mulvany, He had money and I hadn't any, So a challenge I sent him wan day. |