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The days were sad without you, the nights long and drear,

My dreams have been about you, oh, welcome, Willie, dear.

Last night I wept and watched, by the moonlight's cheerless ray,

Till I thought I heard your footstep, when I wiped my tears away;

But my heart grew sad again, when I found you had not come;

Oh, Willie, we have missed youwelcome, welcome home.

AIR.-"Lord Lovel."

VEN I lies mineself down in mine lonely ped-room,

Un dries for to shleep very sound,

De treams, oh how into mine head dey vill come,

Till I vish I vas under de groundYaw, ground, Un I vish I vas under de ground! Zomedimes, ven I eats a pig supper, I


Dat my shtomach is filled up mit shtones;

Un out in my shleep, like de night-owl, I shcreams,

Un kicks off de ped-clothes, un


Yaw, groans, Un kicks off de ped-clothes, un groans!

"Den dere as I lies, mit de ped-clothes all off,


I gits mineself all ofer froze In de morning I vakes mit a head-ache un cough,

Un I'm zick from mine head to mine


Yaw, toes, Un I'm zick from mine head to mine toes.

Oh, vot shall pe done for a poor mans like me?

Oh, vot for I lead zuch a life? Zome says dere's a cure for dis droubles

of me :

Dinks I'll try it, un-git me a vife,
Yaw, vife-
Dinks I'll try it, un git me a frow.


THE Young May Moon is beaming, love, The glowworm's lamp is gleaming, love; How sweet to rove

Through Morna's grove, While the drowsy world is dreaming, love, Then awake the heavens look bright, my dear,

'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, And the best of all ways To lengthen our days

Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear.

Now all the world is sleeping, love,
But the sage, his star-watch keeping,

And I, whose star,
More glorious far,

Is the eye from that casement peeping, love,

Then awake!-till the rise of the sun, my dear,

The sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,
Or, in watching the flight
Of bodies of light,

He might happen to take thee for one, my dear.


OH! Bay of Dublin; my heart you're


Your beauty haunts me like a fevered dream,

Like frozen fountains, that the sun sets bubbling,

My heart's blood warms when I but
hear your name;

And never till this life pulse ceases,
My earliest thought you'll cease to be;
Oh there's no one here knows how fair

that place is,

And no one cares how dear it is to me. Sweet Wicklow mountains! the sunlight sleeping

On your green banks is a picture rare, You crowd around me, like young girls


And puzzling me to say which is most fair;

As tho' you'd see your own sweet faces, Reflected in that smooth and silver sea, Oh my blessin' on those lovely places, Tho' no one cares how dear they are to me.

How often when at work I'm sitting,
And musing sadly on the days of yore,
I think I see my Katey knitting,
And the children playing round the
cabin door;

I think I see the neighbors' faces
All gather'd round, their long-lost
friend to see;

Oh tho' no one knows how fair that
place is,

Heaven knows how dear my poor home was to me.


Is there a youthful gallant here
On fire for fame-unknowing fear-
Who in the charge's mad career
On Erin's foes would flesh his spear?
Come, let him wear the White Cockade,
And learn the soldier's glorious trade;
'Tis of such stuff a hero's made;
Then let him join the Bold Brigade.

Who scorns to own a Saxon Lord,
And toils to swell a stranger's hoard?


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