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No longer must she stay aboard: They kiss'd; she sigh'd; he hung his head

Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land!

"Adieu!" she cried, and waved her lily hand.


REMEMBER the glories of Brian the brave,

Though the days of the hero are o'er. Though lost to Mononia, and cold in the grave,

He returns to Kinkorah no more! That star of the field, which so often has pour'd

Its beam on the battle, is set; But enough of its glory remains on each sword

To light us to victory yet.

Mononia! when nature embellish'd the tint

Of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair,

Did she ever intend that a tyrant should




The footstep of slave y there? No!-Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign,

Go, tell our invaders, the Danes, That 'tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine,

Than to sleep but a moment in chains.

Forget not our wounded companions, who stood,

In the day of distress, by our side; While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood,

They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died;

The sun, that now blesses our arms with his light,

Saw them fall up

Ossory's plain! Oh! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night,

To find that they fell there in vain.

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WHEN waking with the rosy day,
From golden dreams of thee,
I watch the orient sunbeams play,
Along the purple sea;

O then I could not choose but weep,
As thou were mine no more,
Ah, grammachree, ma cholleenouge,
Ma Ailleen Asthore !

When twilight brings the weeping hours,
That sadden all the grove,
And angels leave their starry bowers
To watch o'er faithful love,
Thy parting words, to me so sweet,
I breathe them o'er and o'er,
Ah, grammachree, ma cholleenouge,
Ma Ailleen Asthore!

But soon they'll lay me in the
Where broken hearts should be;
And when, beyond the distant wave,
Thou dream'st of meeting me,

My sorrows all will be forgot,
And all the love I bore,

Ah, grammachree, ma cholleenouge,
Ma Ailleen Asthore'

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THE VOW OF TIPPERARY. FROM Carrick streets to Shannon shore From Slievenamon to Ballindeary From Longford-pass to GaltymoreCome, hear The Vow of Tipperary.

"Too long we fought for Britain's cause, And of our blood were never chary; She paid us back with tyrants laws, And thinned The Homes of Tipperary.

"But never more we'll win such thanks:
We swear by God, and Virgin Mary,
Never to list in British ranks ;"
And that's The Vow of Tipperary.


As beauteous as Flora, is charming young Nora,

The joy of my heart and the pride of Kildare;

I ne'er will deceive her, for sadly 't would grieve her,

To find that I sigh'd for another less fair,

Her heart with truth teeming, her eye with smiles beaming,

What mortal could 'njure a blossom so rare ?

Oh! Norah, dear Norah, the pride of Kildare.

Where'er I may be, love, I'll never forget thee, love,

Tho' beauties may smile and try to


Yet nothing shall ever my heart from thine sever,

Dear Norah, sweet Norah, the pride of Kildare;

Thy heart with truth teeming, thy eye with smiles beaming,

What mortal could injure a blossom so rare ?

Oh! Norah, dear Norah, the pride of Kildare.


A HIGHLAND laddie heard of war,
Which set his heart in motion;
He heard the distant cannon roar,
He saw the smiling ocean:
Come weal, come wo,
To sea he'd go,

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