Glories there have been, that blazed to

the stars;

There have been-and that is all. But there is the grand old Roman See, The ruins of earth among,

Young with the youth of its earliest prime,

With the strength of Peter strong.

The heretic leader rears his head,
And the lie from his poisoned lips
Goes out, like a thousand shadows of
death,

Black as the black eclipse;

But sure and swift, in the destined hour, The Anathema from on high

Flashes, and down the doomed one falls,
As Lucifer fell from the sky.

Two hundred millions of loyal hearts,
The sheep at the shepherd's voice,
As the tongues of the Angels* echo it on,
To the ends of the earth, rejoice.
From clime to clime, and throughout all
time,

It lives and speaks and thrills,

Away beyond the seas and the streams, Beyond the eternal hills.

*Bishop, so called in the Apocalypso.

Over all the orb no land more true Than our own old Catholic land, Through ages of blood to the Rock hath stood

True may she ever stand!

O, ne'er may the star St. Patrick set
On her radiant brow decay!
Hurra for the grand old Catholic Isle !
For the grand old Pope hurra!

NORAH CREINA.

WHO are you that walks this way
So like the Empress Dejanina?
Is it true what people say,

That you're the famous Shilnagirah ? Or are you the great Pompey?

Or Britain's Queen, bold Tilbureena?
Or are you Dido, or Doctor Magee?
O no, says she, I'm Norah Creina.
I'm the girl that makes the stir,
From Cork along to Skibbereena;
All the day we drink strong tea,
And whiskey too, says Norah Creina.

Who are you that ax my name?
Othello, Wat Tyler, or Julius Cæsar ?
Or are you Venus, of bright fame ?
Or that old fogy Nebuchadnezzar ?

Or maybe you are Pluto stout;

Or jolly old Bacchus, drunk and

hearty;

There my lass, your eye is out,
For I'm Napoleon Bonaparte.

I'm the girl, etc

Won't you dine with me to-day?
I'll send for you a horse and crupper ;
And lest you should refuse to stay,
I'll tell you who we'll have to supper:
Macgillicuddy of the Reeks,

And Donaghue Glen, the Duke of
Glo'ster,

Oliver Cromwell, and Brian O'Linn,
Cadwallader Waddy, and Leslie Fos-
I'm the girl, etc.

ter.

VILLIKINS AND HIS DINAH.

'TIS of a rich merchant who in London did dwell,

He had but one daughter, an unkimmon nice young gal ;

Her name it was Dinah, scarce sixteen years old,

With a very large fortune in silver and gold.

Too ral lal, loo ral lal, too ral lal la.

Chorus for the silver and gold.

Too ral lal, etc.

As Dinah was a valiking in the garden one day,

Her papa he came to her, and thus he did say:

"Go dress thyself, Dinah, in gorgeous

array,

And take yourself a husband both galliant and gay."

Too ral lal, etc.

Chorus for the expectant husband.

Too ral lal, etc.

Spoken. This is what the infant progedy said to the author of her being.

‘O, papa, O, papa, I've not made up my mind,

And to marry just yet, why, I don't feel inclined;

To you my large fortune I'll gladly give o'er,

If you'll let me live single a year or two

more."

Too ral lal, etc.

Too ral lal, etc.

Chorus for the suppliant maiden.

แ

Spoken. This is what the indignant parient replied-1 represent the father.

Go, go, boldest daughter," the parient replied;

"If you won't consent to be this here young man's bride,

I'll give your large fortune to the nearest

of kin,

Spoken.-Now comes the conflabbergastation of the lovyer.

As Vilikins was valiking the garden around,

He spied his dear Dinah laying dead upon the ground,

And a cup of cold pison it lay by her

side,

With a billet-dux a stating 'twas by pi son she died.

Too ral lal, etc.