While lonely I walk in the shade of the

evening,

Till my Connor's return I will ne'er cease to weep.

Smiling, beguiling, &c.

The war being over, and he not returned, I fear that some dark envious plot has been laid;

Or that some cruel goddess has him

tivated,

сар

And left here to mourn his dear Irish

maid.

Smiling, beguiling, &c.

MOTHER, HE'S GOING AWAY.

SAMUEL LOVER.

Mother.

Now, what are you crying for, Nelly? Don't be blubberin' there like a fool! With the weight o' the grief, 'faith I tell

you,

You'll break down the three-legged stool.

I suppose, now, you're crying for Bar

ney,

But do 'nt b'lieve a word that he'd say,

He tells nothin' but big lies and blarney— Sure you know how he sarved poor Kate Kearney.

Daughter.

But, mother, he's going away;
And I dreamt th' other night,
Of his ghost all in white-
Oh, mother, he's going away!

Mother.

If he's goin' away all the bettherBless'd hour when he's out of your

sight!

There's one comfort-you can't get a letther,

For yiz neither can read or can write. Sure, 't was only last week you protested, Since he coorted fat Jinny M'Cray, That the sight of the scamp you detested

With abuse, sure, your tongue never rested

Oh, bother!

Mother.

Daughter.

But, mother, he's going away, And I dream of his ghost Walking round my bedpostOh, mother, he's going away.

MARY ASTORE.

MRS. CRAWFORD.

COLD blows the winter wind,
Mary Astore!

Colder those hearts unkind,
Mary Astore!

They that have power to save
Thus send us forth to brave
Death on the stormy wave,
Mary Astore!

Pale is thy cheek to see,
Mary Astore!

Come.hide thy tears on me,
Mary Astore!

Though scant thy cov'ring be,
These arms shall shelter thee-

O thou art dear to me,
Mary Astore!

Altar nor priest have we,
Mary Astore !

Yet on this stormy sea,
Mary Astore!

We can our vespers say,
We can for Ireland pray
God wipe our tears away,
Mary Astore!

THE LOW-BACKED CAR.

SAMUEL LOVER.

WHEN first I saw sweet Peggy,
"T was on a market day,

A low-back'd car she drove, and sat
Upon a truss of hay;

But when that hay was blooming grass,
And deck'd with flowers of spring,
No flow'r was there that could compare
With the blooming girl I sing.
As she sat in the low-back'd car,
The man at the turnpike bar
Never asked for the toll,

But just rubb'd his old poll,
And looked after the low-back'd car.

In battle's wild commotion,
The proud and mighty Mars,

With hostile scythes, demands the tithes
Of death in warlike cars;
While Peggy, peaceful goddess,

Has darts in her bright eye,

That knock men down, in the market town,
As right and left they fly-
While she sits in her low-back'd car,
Than battle more dangerous far—
For the doctor's art
Cannot cure the heart

That is hit from the low-back'd car.

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,
Has strings of ducks and geese,
But the scores of hearts she slaughters
By far outnumber these;
While she among her poultry sits,

Just like a turtle dove,

Well worth the cage, I do engage,
Of the blooming god of love.
While she sits in the low-back'd car,
The lovers come near and far,
And envy the chicken

That Peggy is pickin',

As she sits in the low-back'd car.

Oh, I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,