For lovers all look for the brass, O! And they slight the poor beautiful maid.

I have lived in the world about seventy years,

And I weep every night half-a-pail full of tears;

For I fear that, alas! there'll be soon no escapes

From the terrible doom, sir, of leading of apes.

It makes me look wonderful blue, sir,
I really don't know what to do, sir,
Some prospect I hope there's in view,

sir,

To marry the beautiful maid.

O, gentlemen, surely your hearts are all stone,

To turn a deaf ear to my pitiful moan, To look with contempt on my love and my truth,

And be blind to the graces of beauty and youth.

O, gentlemen, what are you arter?
My neck I will hang in a garter,
Or plunge in the New River water,
If you frown on the beautiful maid.

I've a secret to tell that will alter the

case,

And will surely remove every frown from your face ;

Then spouses in plenty will come in a

swarm;

Though our hearts they are cold, my purse it is warm.

You'll call me an adorable creature,
Discover a charm in each feature,
For beauty no Venus can beat her,
And you'll marry the beautiful maid.

NED OF THE HILL.

DARK is the evening, and silent the hour; Who is the minstrel by yonder lone tower?

His harp all so tenderly touching with skill;

O, who should it be, but Ned of the Hill?

Who sings, "Lady love, come to me now,
Come and live merrily under the bough,
And I'll pillow thy head
Where the fairies tread,

If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the

Hill!"

Ned of the Hill has no castle nor hall, Nor spearmen nor bowmen to come at his call;

But one little archer, of exquisite skill, Has shot a bright shaft for Ned of the Hill,

Who sings, "Lady love, come to me now,

Come and live merrily under the bough,
And I'll pillow thy head
Where the fairies tread,

If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the
Hill!"

'Tis hard to escape from that fair lady's bower,

For high is the window, and guarded the tower;

"But there's always a way where there is a will,"

So Ellen is off with Ned of the Hill! Who sings, "Lady love, thou art mine now!

We will live merrily under the bough,
And I'll pillow thy head
Where the fairies tread,

For Ellen is wed to Ned of the Hill !"

Of thee I think the while, And seem of thee the fonder, My own green Isle !

THE IRISH MAIDEN'S SONG.

THROUGH lofty Scotia's mountains,
Where savage grandeur reigns,
Though bright be England's fountains,
And fertile be her plains;
When 'mid their charms I wander,

While many who have left thee,
Seem to forget thy name,
Distance hath not bereft me
Of its endearing claim.
Afar from thee sojourning,
Whether I sigh or smile,
I call thee still "Mavourneen,"
My own green Isle !

Fair as the glittering waters,

Thy emerald banks that lave, To me thy graceful daughters;

Thy generous sons are brave. O there are hearts within thee,

That know not shame nor guile, And such proud homage win thee, My own green Isle !

For their dear sakes I love thee,
Mavourneen, though unseen;
Bright be the sky above thee,
Thy shamrock ever green!
May evil ne'er distress thee,
Nor darken, nor defile,
But Heaven forever bless thee
My own green Isle.

PARODY ON THE COTTAGE BY THE
SEA.

"Childhood's days have passed before me,
Dear Tom, Just twenty years ago;
'Tis Columbia's greatest glory,
Paddy's Museum and Baby-Show.
When this cruel war is over,
Sally is the gal for me:
Thou hast learned to love another
In the cottage by the sea;

Let me kiss him for his mother,
In the cottage by the sea."

"We are coming, Sister Mary,
In The Irish jaunting-car,
Hold your horses, Paddy Carey,
There is whiskey in the jar;
Here I am, as you diskiver,
Maiden, wilt thou dwell with mo,

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