O her cheeks, red as bricks, set me all in a bustle,

And she'd open her mouth as she'd open a muscle :

She'd a nate row of teeth,—she had two by my soul !

And her tongue hung between, like a toad in a hole.

Singing, whack for ould Ireland, &c.

Now, Juggy Delany has made me her wife;

Although two, we are one, all the rest of our life:

We've a pair of fine daughters, as fresh as the morn,

But what pleases me most, they're both Irishmen born.

Singing, whack for ould Ireland, &c.

WHEN THRO' LIFE

WHEN through life unblest we rove,
Losing all that made life dear,
Should some notes we used to love,
In days of boyhood, meet our ear,
Oh! how welcome breathes the strain'
Waking thoughts that long have slept;

Kindling former smiles again,
In faded eyes that long have wept !
Like the gale that sighs along
Beds of oriental flowers,
Is the grateful breath of song,

That once was heard in happier hours Fill'd with balm the gale sighs on,

Tho' the flowers have sunk in death,
So, when pleasure's dream is gone,
Its memory lives in music's breath!

Music!-oh! how faint, how weak,
Language fades before thy spell !
Why should feeling ever speak,

When thou canst breathe her soul so
well.

Friendship's balmy words may feign, Love's are even more false than they, Oh! 'tis only music's strain,

Can sweetly soothe, and not betray'

OUR FLAG.

Fling abroad its folds to the cooling breeze,

Let it float at the mast-head high ; And gather around, all hearts resolv'd, To sustain it there or die:

An emblem of peace and hope to the world,

Unstained let it ever be;

And say to the world, where'er it waves,

Our flag is the flag of the free!

That banner proclaims to the list'ning earth,

That the reign of the tyrant is o'er, The galling chain of the monster rum, Shall enslave mankind no more: An emblem of hope to the poor and lost,

O place it where all may see;

And shout with glad voice as you raise it high,

Our flag is the flag of the free!

Then on high, on high let that banner wave,

And lead us the foe to meet,
Let it float in triumph o'er our heads
Or be our winding sheet:

And never, oh never be it furled,
Till it wave over earth and sea;
And all mankind shall swell the shout,
Our flag is the flag of the free!

THE CORK LEG.

AIR.-The King and the Countı yman. I'LL tell you a story without any sham, In Holland lived Mynheer Von Flam, Who every morning said "I am

The richest merchant in Rotterdam." Ri tooral, &c.

One morning when he was as full as an egg,

A

poor relation came to beg,

He kick'd him out without broaching a

keg,

But in kicking him out he broke his

leg.

Ri tooral, &c.

A surgeon, the first in his vocation,
Came, and he made a long oration,
He wanted a limb for anatomization,
So he finish'd the job by amputation.
Ri tooral, &c.

Says he, when the surgeon had done
his work,
"By your sharp knife I lose one fork,
But on two crutches I'll never stalk,
For I'll have a beautiful leg of cork.”
Ri tooral, &c.

An artist in Rotterdam, it would seem, Had made cork legs his study and theme,

Each joint was as strong as an iron beam,

And the springs were a compound of clock-work and steam.

Ri tooral, &c.

The leg came home, and fitted right,
Inspection the artist did invite,

Its fine shape gave Mynheer delight,
He fix'd it on, and he screw'd it tight
Ri tooral, &c.

He walk'd through each square, and he pass'd each shop,

Of speed he went at the utmost top, He went with a bounce, and a jump, and a hop,

When he found his leg he could not

stop.

Ri tooral, &c.

Horror and grief were in his face, The neighbours thought he was running a race,