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THE 



UNIVERSAL BOOK OF SONGS 



AND 



SINGER'S COMPANION: 



CONTAINING AN 



Extensive Collection of 
Patriotic, 

Sentimental, 
Irish, 

Ethiopian, 

Comic, and 

JOLLY CONVIVIAL SONGS. 

EMBRACING ALL THE MOST POPULAR TOCAL 
GEMS EXTANT. 



\J / NEWTOEK: 
DICK & FITZGERALD, PUBLISHERS, 



PR ,187 

.Lis 



Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 18«4, by 

DICK & FITZGERALD, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. 



X*T 



C l Jl 



THE 

UNIVERSAL BOOK OF SONGS 

EMBRACES THE FOLLOWING SONG BOOKS: 

I. Moore's Irish Melodies. 

II. Frank Brower's Black Diamond Songster. 
III. The Camp Fire Songster. 
IT. The Shamrock; or, Songs of Old Ireland. 

Y. The Convivial Songster. 



CONTENTS. 



TOM MOORE'S IEISH MELODIES. 

PAGE 

After the Battle 21 

As a Beam o'er the Face of the Waters may Glow 11 

As slow our Ship 72 

At the Mid Hour of Night 40 

Avenging and Bright •. 84 

A Finland Love-Song 59 

Before the Battle 21 

Believe Me, if all those Endearing Young Charms. 13 

By that Lake whose Gloomy Shore 33 

Come o'er the Sea 45 

Come, rest in this Bosom 52 

Come, send round the v7ine 18 

Couldst thou look as Dear 54 

Dear Harp of my Country. 55 

Drink to Her 20 

Erin, Erin 19 

Erin ! The Tear and the Smile in thine Eyes 8' 

Eveleen's Bower • 16 

Farewell ! but whenever you Welcome the Hour 38 

Fill the Bumper Fair 57 

Fly not yet 9 

From Life without Freedom , 56 

Go where Glory waits Thee 5 

Has Sorrow thy Young Days shaded 49 

How dear to Me the Hour 14 

How oft has the Benshee cried 14 

Here's the Bower • 64 

I'd mourn the Hopes 44 

111 Omens 24 

I saw from the Beach 52 

I saw thy Form in Youthful Prime 29 

It is not the Tear at this Moment shed 26 

F ve a Secret to tell thee 67 

Joys that pass away 56 

Lesbia hath a Beaming Eye . . . '. 32 

Let Erin remember the Days of Old 16 

Love and the Novice 36 

Love's Young Dream 30 

Love Thee, Dearest, love Thee ? 58 



4 CONTEXTS. 

PAGB 

Light sounds the Harp 58 

Love's Light Summer-Cloud 59 

Love, my Mary, dwells with Thee 62 

Nay, tell Me not 35 

No, not more welcome 50 

Oh, banquet not 67 

Oh, Blame not the Bard 23 

Oh, Breathe not his Name 7 

Oh, doubt Me not 41 

Oh, had We some Bright Little Isle of our own 46 

Oh, think not my Spirits are always as light I 10 

One Bumper at parting 89 

Oh, remember the Time 55 

Oh, soon return ! .65 

Oh, where's the Slave ? 50 

Oh, yes, so well, so tenderly 53 

Oh, yes, when the Bloom 54 

Remember the Glories of Brien the Brave 6 

Rich and Bare were the Gems she wore 3 

She is far from the Land 84 

St. Senanus and the Lady. . 12 

Sublime was the Warning . 17 

Take back the Virgin Page . . . . 70 

The East Indian 63 

The Fortune-Teller 63 

The Harp that once through Tara's Halls 11 

The Irish Peasant to his Mistress. 25 

The Legacy 13 

The Meeting of the Waters 12 

The Mountain-Sprite 68 

The Minstrel-Boy .45 

The Night-Dance 71 

The Prince's Day 61 

The Song of Fionnuala 24 

The Song of O'Ruark 43 

The Song of War 64 

The Time I've lost in Wooing 48 

The Young May Moon 81 

The Young Rose f .. 31 

This Life is all chequered r 421 

Though the Last Glimpse of Erin 9 

Through Erin's Isle 37 

'Tis believed that this Harp 27 

'Tis Gone, and forever t 51 

'Tis sweet to think 28 

'Tis the Last Rose of Summer 40 

To Ladies' Eyes 66 

Weep on, weep on, your Hour is past 28 

We may roam through this World 15 

What the Bee is to the floweret 44 

When first I met Thee 4T 

When He who adores Thee T 



CONTENTS. 5 

PAGE 

When midst the Gay I meet 60 

When Twilight Dews 62 

When through Life . . . 26 

While gazing on the Moon's Light 22 

While History's Muse 69 

You remember Kllen 41 



PRANK BROWER'S BLACK DIAMOND SONGSTER. 

A Darkey's Epitaph 52 

A Dutchman's Opinion of Things Now-a-Days 32 

A Joke on Smoke 31 

A Lazy Wife 33 

Altogether too clean 39 

A Modest Request 64 

A Tough Boarding- House 53 

A Very Deaf Darkey ... 2^ 

Ben Battle and Nellie Gray 23 

Black and Blue 27 

Blow your Horn. Gabriel 16 

Bully Boy's the Butterfly 51 

Burlesque Oration on Matrimony 43 

Come down wid de Brass Tacks 21 

Cry and Color 29 

De Cappy Land of Hanaan 14 

De Milk in de Cocoa-Nut 11 

De Mysterious Knockings 36 

De Ole Plantation 46 

Filibuster Sam 8 

Frank Brower's New Medley 47 

Happy Uncle Tom 5 

Hoolagan McCarthy 36 

How to get up a ( 'oncert 20 

I wish I had a Fat Contract 67 

Johnny Succotash 35 

Kit, the Cobbler : 71 

Marriage Bliss 52 

Model Rhymes 58 

New " Cum Plung Gum" 29 

Nigger under de Woodpile 22 

No North, no South . 65 

Old Daddy Hopkins....... 42 

Or any oder Man's Dog'.,-- 19 

Paddy and the Devil \ 62 

Parody on " When this Cruel War is over" 13 

Patrick's Serenade 69 

Shakspeare improved 34 

She's black, but that's no matter 56 

Some Horse „ 41 

Steamed Oysters, oh 3£ 



6 CONTENTS. 

I 

PAGE 

The Boat-Eace. 40 

The Cure 27 

The Darkey Bachelor 28 

The Darkey's Eace 50 

The Dream of the Hard-up 18 

The End of the World 58 

The Farmers Boy 68 

The Four Vultures... 30 

The Hungry Lover 34 

The Jersey Fisherman 70 

The Lone Fishball 55 

The Men of the Day 17 

The Port Eoyal Contraband 9 

The Wrong Bill 15 

'Tis the Last Cake of Supper 66 

Up again and kiss Me quick 45 

Vilikins and his Dinah 57 

Yiva 1" America ! , 64 

What a Eidiculous Fashion 59 

Why do I weep for Thee 61 

Wonderful Transformation 22 

Zouave Johnny's History of Hamlet 25 



THE CAMP-FIBE SONGSTER. 

A Big Thing on Ice 48 

Abraham's Daughter 8 

A Good Time Coming, Boys 47 

A Glass is Good ." 59 

America 63 

Annie Laurie 22 

Auld Lang Syne * 60 

A Yankee Ship and a Yankee Crew 51 

Benny Havens 25 

Bully for Us 13 

Camp War Song 38 

Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean 33 

Come, Landlords, Fill 56 

Come, Eaise the Banner High 5S 

Corporal Kelly 59 

Dixie of Our Union • 50 

Dixie of the Michigan Boys 52 

Drink it Down 61 

Free and Easy Still 11 

Gay and Happy 12 

God Save Our Native Land 46 

nail Columbia 68 

Happy Land of Canaan 16 

Home Again 30 



CONTENTS. 7 

PAGE 

Home, Sweet Home 85 

How Are You, Johnny Bull 3 

Hurrah for the Union 34 

I Love a Sixpence 9 

Jeff Davis; or, The King of the Southern Dominions 15 

Jonathan to John 36 

Let Cowards Shirk their Duty TO 

Little Rhode Island 39 

My Country, 'tis of Thee I Sing 63 

My Love, He is a Zou-zu 18 

Our Country's Flag 29 

Our Father Land 43 

Our Flag is There 20 

Our German Volunteers 31 

O'Toole and McFinnigan on the War 53 

Pat's Opinion of the Stripes and Stars 67 

Bed, White, and Blue 83 

Songs of the Camp 65 

The Brave Boys of Company D 49 

The Bugle Note 41 

The Flag of Our Union 28 

The Gallant Zouaves 66 

The Girl I Left behind Me 28 

The London u Times" on American Affairs 40 

The New York Volunteer 23 

The Soldier's Hymn 42 

The Stripes and Stars 44 

The Star Spangled Banner (with additional verses) 56 

The Union Marseillaise 82 

The Union Must and Shall be Preserved 21 

The Union Root Hog or Die 17 

The Yankee Volunteers 45 

There Lies the Whiskey Bottle empty on the Shelf 6 

Union and Justice 64 

Viva 1* America 19 

Viva La Compagnie 24 

Whack 1 Row de Dow 9 



THE SHAMROCK j OR, SONGS OF OLD IRELAND, 

Aggie Asthore 25 

Angel's Whisper 21 

A Sweet Irish Girl is the Darling 69 

Barnaby Finegan ; 59 

Colleen Bawn 50 

Darling Old Stick 62 

Doran's Ass 33 

Erin go Bragh 64 

Erin is My Home 86 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Green Grow the Bushes, O 5T 

Heigh for the Petticoats 23 

He Tells Me He Loves Me 63 

Hibernia's Lovely Jean 45 

I'd Mourn the Hopes 12 

I'm Leaving Old Ireland 28 

I'm Not Myself at All 61 

Irish Post-Boys' Song 10 

Irish Tinker's Lament , 16 

Kathleen, Mavourneen 38 

Kitty Tyrrell 2T 

Lament of the Irish Emigrant , 22 

Limerick Races 65 

Ma Allieen Asthore 64 

Molly Asthore 51 

Molly Bawn 20 

My Heart's in Old Ireland 6 

My Nick-name is Barney 40 

Norah McShane 38 

Norah, the Pride of Kildare 17 

Och ! Norah, Dear 44 

Ould Ireland ! You're My Darlin' 44 

Paddy Goshlow 26 

Pretty Maid Milking Her Cow 9 

Purty Molly Brallaghan 36 

Savourneen* Deelish 18 

Sergeant McFadgin 58 

Teddy O'Neal 6T 

The Blackbird 13 

Terence's Farewell to Kathleen 53 

The Blarney 56 

The Captain 39 

The Croppy Boy 71 

The Dear Irish Boy 52 

The Exile of Erin 30 

The Fairy Boy 11 

The Fine Old Irish Gentleman 31 

The Four-Leaved Shamrock 5 

The Gray Mare 29 

The Green Bushes . . 7 

The Green Linnet 14 

The Harp that Once Thro' Tara's Hall 32 

The Irish Brigade, 17 

The Irish Jaunting Car 55 

The Land of Potatoes, 70 

The Lass o' Gowrie , 54 

The Low-backed Car. 19 

The New Policeman 42 

The Old Country Party 7 

The Patriot Mother 41 

The Road of Life 10 

The Bhan Yan Yogh 24 



CONTEIfTS. 9 

PAGE 

The White Cockade 14 

The Wonderful Irishman 34 

Up for the Green 46 

Widow Machree 68 

Willy Reilly 48 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTEB. 

A Mug of Old Ale 14 

A Bumper of Good Liquor 27 

Auld Lang Syne 30 

A Glass is Good 35 

A Health to all Good Lasses 38 

A Sup of Good Whiskey 43 

A Bumper for Thee 56 

A Song after a Toast 70 

Beer, Boys, Beer 13 

Benny Havens 22 

Begone, Dull Care 65 

Bibo's Will 70 

Come, Send Round the Wine . 9 

Cruiskeen Lawn 21 

Come, Landlords, Fill 25 

Come now, all ye Social Powers 64 

Drink of this Cup 11 

Drink to Her 12 

Drink it Down 17 

Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes 25 

Drown it in the Bowl 27 

Down among the Dead Men 41 

Der Lager Bier 45 

Drink and be Glad 57 

Friend, bv my Soul I'll Whiskey Drink 19 

Fill the Bumper Fair 24 

Farewell ! but Whenever you Welcome the Hour 89 

Fill High the Brimmer '. 46 

Flow, thou Regal purple Stream 52 

fuddle thy Nose 60 
ill the Goblet again 67 

Forty Toasts for Convivial Occasions 71 

Give me Woman, Give me Wine 59 

Had I the Tun which Bacchus used 42 

Here's a Health to Thee, Tom Moore 48 

Here's to the Maiden of Bashful Fifteen 52 

Here's to You Again 63 

I Likes a Drop of Good Beer 31 

I Love a Sixpence 37 

I am a Friar of Orders Gray 43 

Inspiring Fount of Cheering Wine 47 



10 CONTENTS. 

PAG* 

Let the Toast be Dear Woman 16 

Life's a Bumper 51 

Mynheer Vandunck 28 

My Friend and Pitcher 89 

May we Ne'er Want a Friend 53 

One Bumper at Parting .. , 20 

Oh, Banquet not 28 

One Bottle More 46 

Old King Cole 64 

Potteen, Good Luck to Ye, Dear 56 

Sparkling and Bright. 8 

Simon the Cellarer 10 

Song of Bibo 36 

The Zoo-Zoo's Toast 8 

The Pope, he Leads a Happy Life 9 

This Life is all Chequered with Pleasures and Woes 15 

The Bottle's the Sun of Our Table 16 

The Water Drinker 33 

The Jug of Punch 34 

The Monks of Old 35 

The Best of all good Company 38 

The Brown Jug 40 

There's no Deceit in Wine 41 

The Jolly Fat Friar 42 

The Good Rhine Wine 53 

The Song of the Glass 54 

They were Merry Days 58 

There's no Joy like Drinking 59 

The Year that's awa' 62 

The Soldier's Toast 66 

The Big- Bellied Bottle 68 

The Thirsty Earth 69 

Tom Brown 7 

To Ladies' Eyes. 29 

Tuscan Wine 49 

Vive la Campagnie 6 

Wreathe the Bowl 26 

Willie Brewed a Peck o' Malt 32 

With a jolly Full Bottle 34 

When Bibo thought fit 44 

Whiskey, Drink Divine 50 

We Won't go Home till Morning 61 

With an Honest Old Friend 69 

Woman, A Toast 67 

Your Health Old Friend 60 



IRISH MELODIES. 



GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE. 

Go where glory waits thee. 
But while fame elates thee, 

Oh ! still remember me. 
When the praise thou meetest, 
To thine ear is sweetest, 

Oh ! then remember me. 
Other arms may press thee, 
Dearer friends caress thee, 
All the joys that bless thee, 

Sweeter far may be ; 
But when friends are nearest, 
And when joys are dearest, 

Oh 1 then remember me. 

When, at eve, thou rovest 
By the star thou lovest, 

Oh ! then remember me. 
Think, when home returning, 
Bright we've seen it burning — 

Oh ! thus remember me. 
Oft as summer closes, 
When thine eye reposes 
On its liog'ring roses, 

Once so loved by thee, 
Think of her who wove them, 
Her who made thee love them — 

Oh 1 then remember me. 
1* 



WAR-SONG. 

"When, around thee dying, 
Autumn leaves are lying, 

Oh! then remember me. 
And, at night, when gazing 
Ou the gay hearth blazing, 

Oh! still remember me. 
Then should music, stealing 
All the soul of feeling, 
To thy heart appealing, 

Draw one tear from thee ; 
Then let memory bring thee 
Strains I used to sing thee — 

Oh ! then remember me. 



WAR-SONG. 
REMEMBER THE GLORIES OF BRIEN THE BRAVE. 

Remember the glories of Brien the brave, 

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

He returns to Kinkora no more. 
That star of the field, which so often hath poured 

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

To light us to victory yet. 

Mononia ! when Nature embellished the tint 

Of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair, 
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should priut 

The footstep of slavery 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 stirred not, but conquered and died. 



OH, BREATHE NOT F. ■* NAME ! 

That sun which now blesses our arms with his light, 

Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain ; 
Oh ! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night, 

To find that they fell there in vain. 



WHEN HE, WHO ADORES THEE. 

"When he, who adores thee, has left but the name 

Of his fault and his sorrows behind, 
Oh, say, wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame 

Of a life that for thee was resigned ? 
Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn, 

Thy tears shall efface their decree ; 
For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, 

I have been but too faithful to thee. 

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love ; 

Every thought of my reason was thine ; 
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above, 

Thy name shall be mingled with mine. 
Oh, blest are the lovers and friends who shall live 

The days of thy glory to see ; 
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give, 

Is the pride of thus dying for thee 1 



OH, BREATHE NOT HIS NAME! 

Oh, breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, 
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid; 
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, 
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head 

But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps, 
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps; 
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls. 
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls. 



RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE WORK. 



ERIN! THE TEAK AND THE SMILE IN THINE EYES. 

Erin ! the tear and the smile in thine eyes 
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies 1 
Shining through sorrow's stream, 
Saddening through pleasure's beam, 
Thy suns with doubtful gleam 
Weep while they rise. 

Erin ! thy silent tear never shall cease, 
Erin ! thy languid smile ne'er shall increase, 

Till, like the rainbow's light, 

Thy various tints unite, 

And form in Heaven's sight 
One arch of peace ! 



EIOH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE WORE. 

Rich and rare were the gems she wore, 
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore ; • 
But oh I her beauty was far beyond 
Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand. 

" Lady ! dost thou not fear to stray 

" So lone and lovely through this bleak way ? 

"Are Erin's sons so good or so cold, 

"As not to be tempted by woman or gold?" 

" Sir Knight ! I feel not the least alarm, 

"No son of Erin will offer me harm — 

"For, though they love woman and golden store, 

"Sir Knight! they love honor and virtue more." 

On she went, and her maiden smile 
In safety lighted her round the green isle; 
And blest forever is she who relied 
Upon Erin's honor and Erin's pride. 



THOUGH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF EBIN. 



FLY NOT YET. 

Fly not yet: 'tis just the hour 
When pleasure, like the midnight flower 
That scorns the eye of vulgar light, 
Begins to bloom for sons of night, 

And maids who love the moon. 
'Twas but to bless these hours of shade 
That beauty and the moon were made ; 
'Tis then, their soft attractions glowing, 
Set the tides and goblets flowing. 

Oh, stay I — oh, stay! — 
Joy so seldom weaves a chain 
Like this to-night, that oh! 'tis pain 

To break its links so soon. 

Fly not yet : the fount that played 
In times of old through Amnion's shade, 
Though icy cold by day .it ran, 
Yet still, like souls of mirth, began 

To burn when night was near. 
And thus should woman's heart and looks 
At noon be cold as winter brooks, 
Nor kindle till the night, returning, 
Brings their genial hour for burning. 

Oh, stay! — oh, stay! — 
"When did morning ever break, 
And find such beaming eyes awake 

As those that sparkle here ? 



THOUGH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF ERIN WITH SOB- 
ROW I SEE. 

Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, 

Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me ; 

In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, 

And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam. 



10 oh! think not my spirits. 

To the gloom of some desert or cold rocky shore, 
Where the eye of the stranger can haunt as nc more, 
I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough wind 
Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind. 

And I'll gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it wreathes, 
And hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes ; 
Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear 
One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair. 



OH! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE ALWAYS AS 
LIGHT. 

Oh I think not my spirits are always as light, 

And as free from a pang, as they seem to you now : 
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night 

Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow. 
No — life is a waste of wearisome hours, 

Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; 
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, 

Is always the first to be touched by the thorns. 
But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile — 

May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here, 
Than the tear that enjoyment may gild with a smile, 

And the smile that compassion can turn to a, tear! 

The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows! 

If it were not with friendship and love intertwined; 
And I care not how soon I may sink to repose, 

When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my mind. 
But they who have loved the fondest, the purest, 

Too often have wept o'er the dream they believed ; 
And the heart that has slumbered in friendship securest 

Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceived. 
But send round the bowl: while a relic of truth 

Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine— 
That the sunshine of love may illumine our youth. 

And the moonlight of friendship console our uV.clLue. 



AS A BEAM O'ER THIS FACE OF THE WATERS. 11 



THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS. 

The harp that once through Tara's halls 

The soul of music shed, 
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls 

As if that soul were fled. 
So sleeps the pride of former days, 

So glory's thrill is o'er, 
And hearts, that once beat high for praise, 

Now feel that pulse no more. 

No more to chiefs and ladies bright 

The harp of Tara swells: 
The chord alone, that breaks at night, 

Its tale of ruin tells. 
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, 

The only throb she gives 
Is when some heart indignant breaks, 

To show that still she lives. 



AS A BEAM O'ER THE FACE OF THE WATERS MAY 
GLOW. 

As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow, 
While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, 
So the cheek may be tinged with a warm, sunny smile, 
Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while. 

One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws 
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes, 
To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring, 
For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting: 

Oh, this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay, 
Like a dead, leafless brauch in the summer's bright ray 1 
The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain; 
It may smile in his light, but it blooms not again. 



12 ST. SENANUS AND THE LADY. 



THE MEETING OF THE WATEES. 

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet, 
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; 
Oh, the last rays of feeling and life must depart, 
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart ! 

Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene 
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green ; 
It was not her soft magic of streamlet or hill — 
Oh, no ! — it was something more exquisite still. 

'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, 
"Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, 
And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve, 
"When we see them reflected from looks that we love. 

Sweet vale of Avoca ! how calm could I rest 

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, 

Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should 

cease, 
And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. 



ST. SENANUS AND THE LADY. 

ST. SENANUS. 

" Oh, haste and leave this sacred isle, 
"Unholy bark, ere morning smile; 
11 For on thy deck, though dark it be, 

"A female form I see ; 
u And I have sworn this sainted sod 
" Shall ne'er by woman's feet be trod." 

THE LADY. 

a O Father! send not hence my bark, 
" Through wintry winds and billows dark ; 
" I come with humble heart to share 
u Thy morn and evening prayer : 



THE LEGACY. 13 

M Nor mine the feet, holy Saint, 
"The brightness of thy sod to taint." 

The Lady's prayer Senanus spurned ; 
The winds blew fresh, the bark returned; 
But legends hint that had the maid 

Till morning's light delayed, 
And given the saint one rosy smile, 
She ne'er had left his lonely isle. 



THE LEGACY, 

"When in death I shall calm recline, 

Oh, bear my heart to my mistress dear; 
Tell her it lived upon smiles and wine 

Of the brightest hue, while it lingered here. 
Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow, 

To sully a heart so brilliant and light ; 
But balmy drops of the red grape borrow, 

To bathe the relic from morn till night. 

When the light of my song is o'er, 

Then take my harp to your ancient hall; 
Hang it up at that friendly door, 

"Where weary travellers love to call. 
Then if some bard, who roams forsaken, 

Revive its soft note in passing along, 
Oh, let one thought of its master waken 

Your warmest smile for the child of song ! 

Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing, 

To grace your revel when I'm at rest; 
Never, oh ! never its balm bestowing 

On lips that beauty hath seldom blest; 
But when some warm, devoted lover 

To her he adores shall bathe its brim, 
Then, then my spirit around shall hover, 

And hallow each drop that foams for him. 
2 



14 HOW OFT HAS THE BEXSHEE CRIED ! 



HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR! 

How dear to me the hour when daylight dies, 
And sunbeams melt along the silent sea ! 

For then sweet dreams of other days arise, 
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee. 

And, as I watch the line of light, that plays 

Along the smooth wave toward the burning west, 

I long to tread that golden path of rays, 

And thiuk 'twould lead to some bright isle of rest. 



HOW OPT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED! 

How oft has the Benshee cried I 
How oft has Death untied 
Bright links that Glory wove, 
Sweet bonds entwined by Love ! 

Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth ; 

Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth; 
Long may the fair and brave 
Sigh o'er the hero's grave ! 

We're fallen upon gloomy days ! 

Star after star decays, 

Every bright name that shed 

Light o'er the land is fled. 
Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth 
Lost joy, or hope that ne'er returneth: 

But brightly flows the tear 

Wept o'er a hero's bier. 

Quenched are our beacon-lights— 
Thou, of the Hundred Fights 1 
Thou, on whose burning tongue 
Truth, peace, and freedom hung I 
Both mute — but long as valor shineth, 
Or mercy's soul at war repineth, 
So long shall Erin's pride 
Tell how they lived and died I 



WE MAT ROAM THROUGH THIS WORLD. l£ 



WE MAT ROAM THROUGH THIS WORLD. 

"We may roam through this world, like a child at a feast, 

Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest; 
And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, 

We may order our wings, and be off to the west : 
But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile, 

Are the dearest gifts that Heaven supplies, 
We never need leave our own green isle, 

For sensitive hearts, aud for sun-bright eyes. 
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crowned, 

Through this world, whether eastward or westward you 
roam, 
When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, 

Oh, remember the smile that adorns her at home 1 

In England, the garden of Beauty is kept 

By a dragon of prudery, placed within call;. 
But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept, 

That the garden's but carelessly watched after alL 
Oh ! they want the wild sweet-briery fence 

Which round the flowers of Erin dwells; 
Which warns the touch, while winning the sense, 

Nor charms us least when it most repels. 
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crowned, 

Through this world, whether eastward or westward you 
roam, * 

When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, 

Oh, remember the smile that adorns her at home I 

In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail 

On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try, 
Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail, 

But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-byo : 
While the daughters of Erin keep the boy, 

Ever smiling beside his faithful oar, 
Through billows of woe and beams of joy, 

The same as he looked when he left the shore. 



16 LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS OF OLD. 

Then remember, wherever your goblet is crowned, [roam, 
Through this world, whether eastward or westward you 

A^hen a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, 
Oh, remember the smile that adorns her at home 1 



EVELEEFS BOWER. 

Oh ! weep for the hour when to Eveleen's bower 
The Lord of the Valley with false vows came; 

The moon hid her light from the heavens that night, 
And wept behind the clouds o'er the maiden's shame. 

The clouds passed soon from the chaste, cold moon, 
And heaven smiled again with her vestal flame ; 

But none will see the day when the clouds shall pass away, 
Which that dark hour left on Eveleen's fame. 

The white snow lay on the narrow pathway, 
When the Lord of the Yalley crossed over the moor; 

And many a deep print on the white snow's tint 
Showed the track of his footsteps to Eveleen's door. 

The next sun's ray soon melted away 

Every trace on the path where the false lord came ; 
But there's a light above, which alone can remove 

That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame. 



LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS OF OLD. 

Let Erin remember the days of old, 

Ere her faithless sons betrayed her; 
When Malachi wore the collar of gold, 

Which he won from her proud invader ; 
When her kings, with standard of green unfurled, 

Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger — 
Ere the emerald gem of the western world 

Was set in the crown of a stranger. 



SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING. 17 

On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays, 

When the clear, cold eve's declining, 
He sees the round towers of other days 

In the wave beneath him shining: 
Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, 

Catch a glimpse of the days that are over ; 
Thus, sighing, look through the waves of Time 

For the long-faded glories they cover. 



SUBLIME WAS THE WAK2OTG. 

Sublime was the warning that Liberty spoke, 
And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke 

Into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain. 
Liberty! let not this spirit have rest, 
Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the west; 
Give the light of your look to each sorrovviug spot, 
Nor, oh, be the Shamrock of Erin forgot, 

While you add to your garland the Olive of Spain ! 

If the fame of our fathers, bequeathed with their rights, 
Give to country its charm, and to home its delights; 

If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain, 
Then, ye men of Iberia, our cause is the same. 
And oh ! may his tomb want a tear and a name, 
Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death, 
Than to turn his last sigh into victory's breath, 

For the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain! 

Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resigned 
The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find 

That repose which at home they had sighed for in vain, 
Join, join in our hope that the flame which you light 
May be felt yet in Erin, as calm and as bright; 
And forgive ever Albion while blushing she draws, 
Like a truant, her sword, in the long-slighted cause 

Of the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain I 
2* 



3 COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE. 

God prosper the cause! — oh, it cannot but thrive, 
While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive, 

Its devotion to feel, and its rights to maintain. 
Then, how sainted by sorrow its martyrs will die! 
The finger of Glory shall point where they lie ; 
"While, far from the footstep of coward or slave, 
The young spirit of Freedom shall shelter their grave 

Beneath Shamrocks of Erin and Olives of Spain 1 



BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG 
CHARMS. 

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, 

Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, 
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arras, 

Like fairy-gifts fading away, 
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, 

Let thy loveliness fade as it will, 
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart 

Would entwine itself verdantly still. 

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, 

And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, 
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known, 

To which time will but make thee more dear ; 
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, 

But as truly loves on to the close, 
As the sun-llower turns on her god, when he sets, 

The same look which she turned when he rose. 



COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE. 

Come, send round the wine, and leave points of belief 

To simpleton sages and reasoning fools; 
This moment's a flower too fair and brief, 

To be withered and stained by the dust of the schools. 



ERIN, ERIN I 19 

Your glass may be purple, and mine may be bine, 
But, while they are filled from the same bright bowl, 

The fool, that would quarrel for difference of hue, 
Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul. 

Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side 

In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree? 
Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, 

If he kneel not before the same altar with me? 
From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly, 

To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss? 
No — perish the hearts and the laws that try 

Truth, valor, or love, by a standard like this 1 



ERIK, ERIN! 

Like the bright lamp that shone in Kildare's holy fane, 
And burned through long ages of darkness and storm, 

Is the heart that sorrows have frowned on in vain, 
Whose spirit outlives them, unfading and warm. 

Erin, Erin, thus bright through the tears 

Of a long night of bondage thy spirit appears. 

The nations have fallen, and thou still art young; 

Thy sun is but rising, when others' is set : 
And though slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung t 

The full noon of freedom shall beam round thee yet. 
Erin, Erin, though long in the shade, 
Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade! 

Unchilled by the rain, and unwaked by the wind, 
The lily lies sleeping through winter's cold hour, 

Till Spring's light touch her fetters unbind, 

And daylight and liberty bless the young flower. 

Thus Erin, Erin, thy winter is past, 

And the hope that lived through it shall blossom at last! 



20 DRINK TO HER. 



DEINK TO HER. 



Drink to her who long 

Hath waked the poet's sigh, 
The girl who gave to song 

What gold could never *buy. 
Oh, woman's heart was made 

For minstrel hands alone; 
By other fingers played, 

It yields not half the tone ! 
Then here's to her who long 

Hath waked the poet's sigh, 
The girl who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 

At Beauty's door of glass 

When Wealth and Wit once stood, 
They asked her, "which might pass?" 

She answered, " he, who could." 
With golden key Wealth thought 

To pass — but 'twould not do : 
While Wit a diamond brought, 

Which cut his bright way through. 
So here's to her who long 

Hath waked the poet's sigh, 
The girl who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 

The love that seeks a home 

Where wealth and grandeur shines, 
Is like the gloomy gnome 

That dwells in dark gold-mines. 
But oh ! the poet's love 

Can boast a brighter sphere; 
Its native home's above, 

Though woman keeps it here. 
Then drink to her who long 

Hath waked the poet's sigh, 
The girl who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 



BEFOKE THE, BATTLE. — AFTER THE BATTLE. 21 

BEFOEE THE BATTLE, 

By the hope within us springing, 

Herald of to-morrow's strife; 
By that sun, whose light is bringing 

Chains or freedom, death or life — 
Oh, remember life can be 
No charm for him who lives not free! 

Like the day-star in the wave, 

Sinks a hero in his grave, 
Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears. 

Happy is he o'er whose decline 
The smiles of home may soothing shine, 
And light him down the steep of years — 
But oh, how blest they sink to rest, 
Who close their eyes on victory's breast ! 

O'er his watch-fire's fading embers 

Now the foeman's cheek turns white, 
When his heart that field remembers, 

"Where we tamed his tyrant might ! 
Never let him bind again 
A chain, like that we broke from then. 

Hark! the horn of combat calls — 

Ere the golden evening falls, 
May we pledge that horn in triumph round ! 

Many a heart that now beats high, 
In slumber cold at night shall lie, 
Nor waken even at victory's sound — 
But oh, how blest that hero's sleep, 
O'er whom a wond'riog world shall weep! 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 

Night closed around the conqueror's way, 
And lightnings showed the distant hill, 

Where those who lost that dreadful day 
Stood few and faint, but fearless still! 



22 WHILE GAZING ON THE MOON'S LIGHT. 

The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal, 
Forever dimmed, forever crost — 

Oh, who shall say what heroes feel, 
When all but life and honor's lost? 

The last sad hour of freedom's dream, 

And valor's task, moved slowly by, 
"While mute they watched, till mornings beam 

Should rise and give them light to die. 
There's yet a world where souls are free, 

Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss ; 
If death that world's bright opening be, 

Oh, who would live a slave in this ? 



WHILE GAZING ON THE MOON'S LIGHT. 

While gazing on the moon's light, 

A moment from her smile I turned, 
To look at orbs that, more bright, 

In lone and distant glory burned. 
But too far, each proud star, 

For me to feel its warming flame; 
Much more dear that mild sphere, 

Which near our planet smiling came : 
Thus, Mary, be but thou my own ; 

While brighter eyes unheeded play, 
I'll love those moonlight looks alone, 

That bless my home and guide my way. 

The day had sunk in dim -showers, 

But midnight now, with lustre meet, 
Illumed all the pale flowers, 

Like hope upon a mouruer's cheek. 

I said (while the moon's smile 
Played o'er a stream, in dimpling bliss), 

"The moon looks on many brooks, 
"The brook can see no moon but this;" 






OH, BLAME NOT THE BARD ! 23 

And thus, I thought, our fortunes run, 

For many a lover looks to thee ; 
While oh, I feel there is but one, 

One Mary in the world for me ! 



OH, BLAME NOT THE BARD I 

Oh, blame not the bard, if be fly to the bowers 

Where Pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at Fame; 
He was born for much more, and in happier hours 

His soul might have burned with a holier flame: 
The string that now languishes loose o'er the lyre, 

Might have bent a proud bow to the warrior's dart; 
And the lip, which now breathes but the song of desire, 

Might have poured the full tide of a patriot's heart. 

But alas for his country ! — her pride has gone by, 

And that spirit is broken, which never would bend; 
O'er the ruin her children in secret must sigh, 

For 'tis treason to love her, arid death to defend. 
Unprized are her sons, till they've learned to betray; 

Undistinguished they live, if thej r shame not their sires; 
And the torch that would light them through dignity's way, 

Must be caught from the pile where their country expires. 

Then blame not the bard, if in pleasure's soft dream 

He should try to forget what he never can heal; 
Oil, give but a hope — let a vista but gleam 

Through the gloom of his country, and mark how he'll 
feell 

Every passion it nursed, every bliss it adored, 
That instant his heart at her shrine would lay down; 
While the myrtle, now idiy entwined with his crown, 

Like the wreath of Harmodius, should cover his sword. 

But though glory be gone, and though hope fade away, 
Thy name, loved Erin, shall live in his songs; 

Not even in the hour, when his heart is most gay, 

Will he lose the remembrance of thee and thy wrongs. 



ILL OMEXS. 



The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains; 

The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er the deep, 
Till thy masters themselves, as they rivet thy chains, 

Shall pause at the song of their captive, aud weep I 



THE SONG- OP FIONNUALA. 

Silent, Moyle, be the roar of thy water! 

Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose, 
Wnile, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter 

Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. 
"When shall the swan, her death-note singing, 

Sleep, with wings in darkness furled? 
When will heaven, its sweet bells ringing, 

Gall my spirit from this stormy world? 

Sadly, Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping, 

Fate bids me languish long ages away; 
Tet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping, 

Still doth the pure light its dawning delay. 
When will that day-star, mildly springing, 

Warm our isle with peace and love ? 
When will heaven, its sweet bells ringing, 

Call my spirit to the fields above ? 



ILL OMENS. 

When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow, 

And stars in the heavens still lingering shone, 
Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow, 

The last time she e'er was to press it alone. 
For the youth whom she treasured her heart and her soul in, 

Had promised to link the last tie before noon ; 
And w T hen once the young heart of a maideu is stolen, 

The maiden herself will steal after it sot)n. 



THE IRISH PEASANT TO HIS MISTRESS. 25 

As she looked in the glass which a woman ne'er misses, 

Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two, 
A butterfly, fresh from the night-flower's kisses, 

Flew over the mirror and shaded her view. 
Enraged with the insect for hiding her graces, 

She brushed him — he fell, alas ! never to rise — 
"Ah! such," said the girl, "is the pride of our faces, 

"For which the soul's innocence too often dies." 

"While she stole through the garden, where heart's-ease was 
growing, 

She culled some, and kissed off its night-fallen dew; 
And a rose farther on looked so tempting and glowing, 

That, spite of her haste, she must gather it too. 
But. while o'er the roses too carelessly leaning, 

Her zone flew in two, and the heart's-ease was lost: 
u Ah 1 this means," said the girl (and she sighed at its mean- 
ing), 

"That love is scarce worth the repose it will cost I" 



THE IEISH PEASANT TO HIS MISTRESS. 

Through grief and through danger thy smile hath cheered 

my way, 
Till hope seemed to bud from each thorn that round me 

lay; 
The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burned, 
Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turned: 
Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free, 
And blest even the sorrows that made me more dear to 

thee. 

Thy rival was honored, whilst thou wert wronged and 

scorned ; 
Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows adorned; 
She wooed me to temples, while thou layest hid in caves: 
Her friends were ai! masters, while thine, alas! were slaves: 
Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I would rather be, 
Than wed what I love not, or turn one thought from thee. 

3 



26 on Mr sic. 

They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail — 
Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had looked less pale ! 
They say, too, so long thou hast worn those lingering chains, 
That deep in thy heart they have printed their servile stains. 
Oh, foul is the slander — no chain could that soul subdue — 
Where shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth too 1 



IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS MOMENT SHED. 

It is not the tear at this moment shed, 

When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, 
That can tell how beloved was the frieud that's fled, 

Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. 
'Tis the tear, through many a long day wept, 

'Tis life's whole path o'ershaded ; 
Tis the one remembrance, fondly kept, 

When all lighter griefs have faded. 

Thus his memory, like some holy light, 

Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them ; 
For worth shall look fairer and truth more bright, 

When we think how he lived but to love them. 
And, as fresher flowers the sod perfume 

Where buried saints are lying, 
So our hearts shall borrow a sweetening bloom 

From the image he left there in dying 1 



ON MUSIC. 

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 I 

Wakening thoughts that long have slept 1 
Kindling former smiles again 

In faded eyes that long have wept! 



THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. 27 

Like the gale that sighs along 

Beds of oriental flowery 
Is the grateful breath of song 

That once was heard in happier hours. 
Filled with balm, the gale sighs on, 

Though 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 I 
"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 ! 



THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. 

'Tis believed that this Harp, which I wake now for thee, 
"Was a Siren of old, who sung under the sea ; 
And who often, at eve, through the bright waters roved, 
To meet on the green shore a youth whom she loved. 

But she loved him in vain, for he left her to weep, 
And in tears, all the night, her gold tresses to sleep, 
Till Heaven looked with pity on true love so warm, 
And changed to this soft Harp the sea-maiden's form. 

Still her bosom rose fair — still her cheeks smiled the same- 
While her sea-beauties gracefully formed the light frame ; 
And her hair, as, let lobse, o'er hei^white arm it fell, 
Was changed to bright chords, uttering melody's spell. 

Hence it came, that this soft Harp so long hath been known 
To miugle Love's language with Sorrow's sad tone ; 
Till thou didst divide them, and teach the fond lay 
To speak love when I'm near thee, and grief when away ! 



28 WEEP ON. WEEP ON. 



'TIS SWEET TO THINK. 

^rs sweet to think that, where'er we rove, 

We are sure to find something blissful and dear, 
And that, when we're far from the lips we love, 

We've but to make love to the lips we are near I 
The heart, like a tendril, accustomed to cling, 

Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone, 
But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing 

It can twine in itself, and make closely its own. 
Then oh, what pleasure, where'er we rove, 

To be sure to find something still that is dear, 
And to know, when far from the lips we love, 

We've but to make love to the lips we are near I 

'Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise, 

To make light of the rest, if the rose isn't there; 
And the world's so rich in resplendent eyes, 

'Twere a pity to limit one's love to a pair. 
Love's wing and the peacock's are nearly alike, 

They are both of them bright, but they're changeable too, 
And wherever a new beam of beauty can strike, 

It will tincture Love's plume with a different hue! 
Then oh, what pleasure, where'er we rove, 

To be sure to find something still that is dear, 
And to know, when far from the lips we love, 

We've but to make love to the lips we are near I 



WEEP ON, WEEP ON. 

Weep on, weep on, your hour is past ; 

Your dreamy of pride are o'er ; 
The fatal chain is round you cast, 

And you are men no more 1 
In vain the hero's heart hath bled ; 

The sage's tongue hath warned in vain— 
Freedom, once thy flame hath fled, 

It never lights again I 



I SAW THY FOSM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME. 29 

Weep on — perhaps, in after-days, 

They'll learn to love your name ; 
When many a deed may wake in praise, 

That long hath slept in blame. 
And when they tread the ruined aisle 

Where rest, at length, the lord and slave, 
They'll wondering ask, how hands so vile 

Could conquer hearts so brave ? 

M 'Twas fate," they'll say, " a wayward fate, 

"Tour web of discord wove; 
"And, while your tyrants joined in hate, 

" You never joined in love. 
11 But hearts fell off that ought to twine, 

II And man profaned what G-od had given, 
" Till some were heard to curse the shrine 

" Where others knetl to Heaven." 



I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME. 

I saw thy form in youthful prime, 

Nor thought that pale Decay 
Would steal before the steps of Time, 

And waste its bloom away, Mary ! 
Tet still thy features wore that light 

Which fleets not with the breath ; 
And life ne'er looked more truly bright 

Than in thy smile of death, Mary 1 

As streams that run o'er golden mines, 

Tet humbly, calmly glide, 
Nor seem to know the wealth that shines 

Within their gentle tide, Mary ! 
So, veiled beneath the simplest guise, 

Thy radiant genius shone, 
And that which charmed all other eyes 

Seemed worthless in thine own, Mary 1 
3* 



30 love's Yousra dream. 

If souls could always dwell above, 

Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere ; 
Or could we keep the souls we love, 

We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary I 
Though many a gifted mind we meet, 

Though fairest forms we see, 
To live with them is far less sweet 

Than to remember thee, Mary I 



LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 

Oh ! the days are gone, when Beauty bright 

My heart's chain wove ; 
When my dream of life, from morn till night, 
Was love, still love. 
New hope may bloom, and days may come 
Of milder, calmer beam, 
But there's nothing half so sweet in life 

As love's young dream : 
No, there's nothing half so sweet in life 
As love's young dream. 

Though the bard to purer fame may soar, 

When wild youth's past; 

Though he win the wise, who frowned before, 

To smile at last — 

He'll never meet a joy so sweet, 

In all his noon of fame, 

As when first he sung to woman's ear 

His soul-felt flame; 
And, at every close, she blushed to hear 
The one loved name. 

No — that hallowed form is ne'er forgot 

Which first love traced; 
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot 

On memory's waste. 



THE YOUNG ROSE. 3l 

'Twas odor fled as soon as shed ; 

'Twas morning's winged dream ; 
'Twas a light, that ne'er can shine again 

On life's dull stream: 
Oh, 'twas light that ne'er can shine again 

On life's dull stream ! 



THE YOUNG MAT MOON. 

The young May moon is beaming, love; 
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love ; 

How sweet to rove through Morna's grove, 
"When the drowsy world is dreaming, lovel 
Then awake! — the heavens look bright, my dear; 
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear: 

And the best of all ways to lengthen our days 
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dearl 

Now all the world is sleeping, love, 

But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love, 

And I whose star, more glorious far, 
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. 
Then awake ! — till rise of sun, my dear, 
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear; 

Or, in watching the flight of bodies of light, 
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear! 



THE YOUNG ROSE. 

The young rose which I gave thee, so dewy and bright, 
Was the flow'ret most dear to the sweet bird of night, 
"Who oft by the moonlight o'er her blushes hath hung, 
And thrilled every leaf with the wild lay he sung. 

Oh, take thou this young rose, and let her life be 
Prolonged by the breath she will borrow from thee ; 
For while o'er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill, 
She'll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still. 



32 LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE. 



LESEIA HATH A BEAMING EYE. 

Lesbia hath a beaming eye, 

But no one knows for whom it beameth ; 
Right and left its arrows fly, 

But what they aim at no one dreameth. 
Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon 

My Nora's lid, that seldom rises; 
Few its looks, but every one, 

Like unexpected light, surprises. 
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear, 

My gentle, bashful Nora Creiua, 
Beauty lies in many eyes, 

But love in yours, my Nora Creina I 

Lesbia wears a robe of gold, 

But all so close the nymph hath laced it, 
Not a charm of beauty's mould 

Presumes to stay where Nature placed it. 
Oh, my Nora's gown for me, 

That floats as wild as mountain-breezes, 
Leaving every beauty free 

To sink or swell as Heaven pleases. 
Yes, my Nora Creina, dear, 

My simple, graceful Nora Creina, 
Nature's dress is loveliness — 

The dress you wear, my Nora Creina ! 

Lesbia hath a wit refined, 

But when its points are gleaming round us, 
"Who can tell if they're designed 

To dazzle merely, or to wound us ? 
Pillowed on my Nora's heart, 

In safer slumber Love reposes — 
Bed of peace 1 whose roughest part 

Is but the crumpling of the roses. 
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear, 

My mild, my artless Nora Creina, 

Wit, though bright, hath no such light 

As warms your eyes, my Nora Creiua 1 



BT THAT LAKE WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE. 33 



BY THAT LAKE WHOSE GLOOMY SHOEE. 

By that Lake, whose gloomy shore 
Sky-lark never warbles o'er, 
Where the cliff hangs high and steep, 
Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep. 
"Here, at least," he calmly said, 
" Woman ne'er shall find my bed." 
Ah ! the good Saint little knew 
What that wily sex can do. 

'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew — 
Eyes of most unholy blue! 
She had loved him well and long, 
Wished him hers, nor thought it wrong. 
Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly, 
Still he heard her light foot nigh ; 
East or west, where'er he turned, 
Still her eyes before him burned. 

On the bold cliff's bosom cast, 
Tranquil now he sleeps at last; 
Dreams of heaven, nor thinks that e'er 
Woman's smile can haunt him there. 
But nor earth nor heaven is free 
From her power, if fond she be : 
Even now, while calm he sleeps, 
Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps. 

Fearless she had tracked his feet 
To this rocky, wild retreat ; 
And, when morning met his view, 
Her mild glances met it too. 
Ah! your Saints have cruel hearts: 
Sternly from his bed he starts, 
And, with rude, repulsive shock, 
Hurls her from the beetling rock! 

Glendalough ! thy gloomy wave 
Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave 1 



34 SHE IS FAR FROM TEE LAND. 

Soon the Saint (yet ah! too late) 
Felt her love, and mourned her fate. 
When he said, " Heaven rest her soul!" 
Round the Lake light music stole; 
And her ghost was seen to glide, 
Smiling, o'er the fatal tide 1 



AVENGING AND BR1GET, 

Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin 
On him who the brave sons of Usna betrayed ! — 

For every fond eye he hath wakened a tear in, 

A drop from his heart- wounds shall weep o'er her blade! 

By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark dwelling, 
When Ulad's three champions lay sleeping in gore — 

By the billows of war, which so often, high swelling, 
Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore — 

We swear to revenge them ! — no joy shall be tasted, 
The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed, 

Our halls shall be mute and our fields shall lie wasted, 
Till vengeance is wreaked on the murderer's head ! 

Yes, monarch I though sweet are our home recollections, 
Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall; 

Though sweet are our friendships, oar hopes, our affections, 
Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all 1 



SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. 

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, 

And lovers are round her sighing; 
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, 

For her heart in his grave is lying. 

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, 

Every note which he loved awaking; 
Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains, 

How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking. 



NAY, TELL ME NOT. 35 

He had lived for his love, for his country he died, 
They were all that to life had entwined him ; 

Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, 
Nor long will his love stay behind him. 

Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest 

When they promise a glorious morrow ; 
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West, 

From her own loved island of sorrow. 



NAY, TELL ME NOT. 

Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns 

One charm of feeling, one fond regret; 
Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns 

Are all I've sunk in its bright wave yet. 
Ne'er hath a beam been lost in the stream 

That ever was shed from thy form or soul ; 
The spell of those eyes, the balm of thy sighs, 

Still float on the surface, and hallow my bowl. 
Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal 

One blissful dream of the heart from me ; 
Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, 

The bowl but brightens my love for thee. 

They tell us that Love in his fairy bower 

Had two blush-roses, of birth divine ; 
He sprinkled the one with a rainbow's shower, 

But bathed the other with mantling wine. 
Soon did the buds that drank of the floods 

Distilled by the rainbow decline and fade ; 
"While those which the tide of ruby had dyed 

All blushed into beauty, like thee, sweet maid! 
Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal 

One blissful dream of the heart from me ; 
Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, 

The bowl but brightens my love for thee. 



36 LOYE AND THE NOVICE. 



WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE PLOWEEET. 

He. — "What the bee is to the floweret, 
When he looks for honey-dew, 
Through the leaves that close embower it, 
That, my love, I'll be to you. 

She. — What the bank, with verdure glowing, 
Is to waves that wander near, 
Whispering kisses, while they're going, 
That I'll be to you, my dear. 

She. — But, they say, the bee's a rover, 

Who will fly when sweets are gone ; 
And, when once the kiss is over, 
Faithless brooks will wander on. 

He. — Nay. if flowers will lose their looks, 
It sunny banks will wear away, 
'Tis but right that bees and brooks 

Should sip and kiss them, while they may ! 



LOVE AND THE NOVICE. 

" Here we dwell, in holiest bowers, 

"Where angels of light o'er our orisons bend; 
11 Where sighs of devotion and breathings of flowers 
"To heaven in mingled odor ascend. 
"Do not disturb our calm, Lovel 
" So like is thy form to the cherubs above, 
"It well might deceive such hearts as ours." 

Love stood near the Novice and listened, 

And Love is no novice in taking a hint; 
His laughing blue eyes soon with piety glistened, 
His rosy wing turned to heaven's own tint. 
"Who would have thought," the urchin cries, 
"That Love could so well, so gravely disguise 
"His wandering wings and wounding eyes?" 



OH, THE SHAMROCK I 31 

Love now warms thee, waking and sleeping — 

Young Novice, to him all thy orisons rise ; 
He tinges the heavenly fount with his weeping, 
He brightens the censer's flame with his sighs. 
Love is the saint enshrined in thy breast, 
And angels themselves would admit such a guest, 
If he came to them clothed in Piety's vest. 



OH, THE SHAMEOCX! 

Through Erin's Isle, to sport awhile, 

As Love and Yalor wandered, 
"With Wit, the sprite, whose quiver bright 

A thousand arrows squandered: 
"Where'er they pass, a triple grass 

Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming, 
As softly green as emerald seen 

Through purest crystal gleaming. 
Oh, the Shamrock — the green, immortal Shamrock I 
Chosen leaf of Bard and Chief — 

Old Erin's native Shamrock 1 

Says Yalor, " See, they spring for me, 

"Those leafy gems of morning!" — 
Says Love, " No, no, for me they grow, 

"My fragrant path adorning." 
But Wit perceives the triple leaves, 

And cries, " Oh, do not sever 
a A type that blends three godlike friends, 

"Love, Yalor, Wit, forever!" 
Oh, the Shamrock — the green, immortal Shamrock! 
Chosen leaf of Bard and Chief — 

Old Erin's native Shamrock ! 

So firmly fond may last the bond 
They wove that morn together, 

And ne'er may fall one drop of gall 
On Wit's celestial feather 1 



38 farewell! 

May Love, as twine his flowers divine, 
Of thorny falsehood weed 'era ! 

May Valor ne'er his standard rear 
Against the cause of Freedom ! 
Oh, the Shamrock — the green, immortal Shamrock I 

Chosen leaf of Bard and Chief — 
Old Erin's native Shamrock 1 



FAREWELL I-BUT WHENEVER YOU WELCOME THE 
HOUR. 

Farewell! — but whenever you welcome the hour 
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, 
Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, 
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. 
His griefs may return — not a hope may remain 
Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain; 
But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw 
Its enchantment around him, while ling'ring with you. 

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up 

To the highest top-sparkle each heart and each cup, 

Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, 

My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night; 

Shall join in your revels, your' sports, and your wiles, 

And return to me beaming all o'er with your smiles — 

Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer, 

Some kind voice had murmured, "I wish he were here !" 

Let Fate do her worst — there are relics of joy, 
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; 
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, 
And bring back the features that Joy used to wear. 
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled 1 
Like the vase, in which roses have once been distilled — 
You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, 
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. 



ONE BUMPER AT PARTING. 39 

ONE BUMPER AT PARTING. 

One bumper at parting ! — though many 

Have circled the board since we met, 
The fullest, the saddest of any 

Remains to be crowned by us yet. 
The sweetness that pleasure hath in it 

Is always so slow to come forth, 
That seldom, alas ! till the minute 

It dies, do we know half its worth. 
But come — may our life's happy measure 

Be all of such moments made up; 
They're born on the bosom of Pleasure — 

They die 'midst the tears of the cup. 

As onward we journey, how pleasant 

To pause and inhabit awhile 
Those few sunny spots, like the present, 

That 'mid the dull wilderness smile 1 
But Time, like a pitiless master, 

Cries "Onward!" and spurs the gay hours — 
Ah, never doth Time travel faster, 

Than when his way lies among flowers! 
But come — may our life's happy measure 

Be all of such moments made up; 
They're born on the bosom of Pleasure — 

They die 'midst the tears of the cup. 

We saw how the Sun looked in sinking, 

The waters beneath him how bright; 
And now let our farewell of drinking 

Resemble that farewell of light: 
Tou saw how he finished, by darting 

His beam o'er a deep billow's brim — 
So, fill up, let's shine at our parting, 

In full, liquid glory, like him! 
And oh, may our life's happy measure 

Of moments like this be made up ! 
'Twas born on the bosom of Pleasure — 

It dies 'midst the tears of the cup. 



40 'tis the last rose of summer. 



AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT. 

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly 
To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine 
eye; 
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of 

air, 
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me 
there, 
And tell me our love is remembered, even in the sky ! 

Then I siug the wild song 'twas once such pleasure to 

hear, 
"When our voices, commingling breathed, like one, on the 
ear; 
And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, 
I think, oh my love ! 'tis thy voice, from the Kingdom of 
Souls, 
Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. 



'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 

'TiS the last Rose of summer, left blooming alone ; 
All her lovely companions are faded and gone; 
No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes— to give sigh for sigh. 

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, to pine on the stem ; 
Since the lovely are sleeping, go sleep thou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter thy leaves o'er the bed, 
Where thy mates of the garden lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may I follow, when friendships decay, 
And from Love's shining circle the gems drop away! 
"When true hearts lie withered, and fond ones are flown, 
Oh, who would inhabit this bleak world alone? 



rOU REMEMBER ELLEX. 41 



OH, DOUBT ME NOT! 

Oh, doubt me not ! — the season 

Is o'er when Folly made me rove ; 
And now the vestal. Reason, 

Shall watch the fire awaked by Love. 
Although this heart was early blown. 

And fairest hands disturbed the tree, 
They only shook some blossoms down — 
Its fruit has all been kept for thee. 
Then doubt me not — the season 

Is o'er when Folly made me rove ; 
And now the vestal. Reason, 

Shall watch the fire awaked by Love. 

And though my lute no longer 

May sing of Passion's ardent spell, 
Tet trust me, all the stronger 
I feel the bliss I do not tell. 
The bee through many a garden roves, 
And hums his lay of courtship o'er; 
But, when he finds the flower he loves, 
fie settles there, and hums no more. 
Then doubt me not — the season 

Is o'er when Folly kept me free ; 
And now the vestal, Reason, 

Shall guard the flame awaked by thee. 



YOU KEMEMBER ELLEN, 

You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride, 

How meekly she blest her humble lot 
When the stranger, William, had made her his bride, 

And love was the light of their lowly cot. 
Together they toiled through winds and rains, 

Till William, at length, in sadness said, 
; ' We must seek our fortune on other plains" — 

Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed. 
4* 



42 THIS LIFE IS ALL CHEQUEKED. 

They roamed a long and a weary way, 

Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease, 
"When now, at close of one stormy day, 

They see a proud castle among the trees. 
"To-night," said the youth, "we'll shelter there; 

"The wind blows cold, the hour is late:" 
So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air, 

And the porter bowed as they passed the gate. 

"Now, welcome, Lady!" exclaimed the youth, 
, "This castle is thine, and these dark woods all!" 
She believed him crazed, but his words were truth, 

For Ellen is Lady of Rosua Hall! 
And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves 

What William the stranger wooed and wed; 
And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves, 

Shines pure as it did in the lowly shed. 



THIS LIFE IS ALL CHEQUERED WITH PLEASURES 
AND WOES. 

This life is all chequered with pleasures and woes, 

That chase one another like waves of the deep — 
Each brightly or darkly, as onward it flows, 

Reflecting our eyes, as they sparkle or weep. 
So closely our whims on our miseries tread, 

That the laugh is awaked ere the tear can be dried; 
And, as fast as the rain-drop of Pity is shed, 

The goose-plumage of Folly can turn it aside. 
But pledge me the cup — if existence would cloy, 

With hearts ever happy and heads ever wise, 
Be ours the light Sorrow, half-sister to Joy, 

And the light, brilliant Folly, that flashes and dies. 

When Hylas was sent w r ith Lis urn to the fount, 
Through fields full of light, with heart full of play, 

Light rambled the boy, over meadow and mount, 
And neglected his task for the flowers on the way. 



THE SONG OF O'RUARK. 43 

Thus many, like me, who in youth should have tasted 

The fountain that runs by Philosophy's shrine, 
Their time with the flowers on the margin have wasted, 

And left their light urns all as empty as mine. 
But pledge me the goblet — while Idleness weaves 

These flowerets together, should Wisdom but see 
One bright drop or two that has fallen on the leave3 

From her fountain divine, 'tis sufficient for me. 



THE SONG OF O'RUAEK, 
Prince of Breffni, 

The valley lay smiling before me, 

Where lately I left her behind; 
Yet I trembled, and something hung o'er me 

That saddened the joy of my mind. 
I looked for the lamp which, she told me, 

Should shine, when her pilgrim returned; 
But, though darkness began to infold me, 

No lamp from the battlements burned. 

I flew to her chamber — 'twas lonely, 

As if the loved tenant lay dead; — 
Ah, would it were death, and death only I 

But no, the young false one had fled. 
And there hung the lute that could soften 

My very worst pains into bliss; 
While the hand that had waked it so often, 

Now throbbed to a proud rival's kiss. 

There was a time, falsest of women ! 

When Breffni's good sword would have sought 
That man, through a million of foeraen, 

Who dared but to wrong thee in thought! 
While now — oh, degenerate daughter 

Of Erin, how fallen is thy fame ! 
And through ages of bondage and slaughter, 

Our country shall bleed for thy shame. 



44 i'd mourn the hopes. 

Already the curse is upon her, 

And strangers her valleys profane ; 
They come to divide — to dishonor, 

And tyrants they long will remain. 
But onward ! — the green banner rearing, 

Go, flesh every sword to the hilt; 
On our side is Yirtue and Erin, 

On theirs is the Saxon and G-uilt ! 



I'D MOURN THE HOPES. 

I'd mourn the hopes that leave me, 

If thy smiles had left me too: 
I'd weep when friends deceive me, 

If thou wert, like them, untrue. 
But while I've thee before me, 

With heart so warm and eyes so bright, 
No clouds can linger o'er me — 

That smile turns them all to light. 

J Tis not in Fate to harm me, 

While Fate leaves thy love to me ; 
'Tis not in Joy to charm me, 

Unless Joy be shared with thee. 
One minute's dream about thee, 

Were worth a long, an endless year 
Of waking bliss without thee, 

My own love, my only dear ! 

And though the hope be gone, love, 
That long sparkled o'er our way, 

Oh ! we shall journey on, love, 
More safely, without its ray. 

Far better lights shall win me 

Along the path I've yet to roam— 

The mind that burns within me, 

' And pure smiles from thee at home 



COME o'er the sea. 45 

Thus, when the lamp that lighted 

The traveller at first goes out, 
He feels awhile benighted, 

And looks around in fear and doubt. 
" But soon, the prospect clearing, 

By cloudless starlight on he treads, 
And thinks no lamp so cheering 

As that light which Heaven sheds. 



THE MIN8TKEL-B0Y. 

The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone, 

In the ranks of death you'll find him ; 
His father's sword he has girded on, 

And his wild harp slung behind him. — 
"Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, 

" Though all the world betrays thee, 
" One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, 

" One faithful harp shall praise thee !" 

The Minstrel fell! — but the foeman's chain 

Could not bring his proud soul under; 
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, 

For he tore its chords asunder, 
And said, " No chains shall sully thee, 

"Thou soul of love and bravery! 
" Thy songs were made for the pure and free, 

" They shall never sound in slavery !" 



GOME O'ER THE SEA. 

Come o'er the sea, maiden, with me — 

Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; 
Seasons may roll, but the true soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes. 
Let Fate frown on, so we love and part not; 
'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not. 



46 OH, HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE! 

Then come o'er the sea, maiden, with me — 
Come wherever the wild wind blows; 

Seasons may roll, but the true soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes. 

Was not the sea made for the Free, 

Land for courts and chains alone ? 
Here we are slaves, but, on the waves, 

Love and liberty's all our own ; 
No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, 
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us — 
Then come o'er the sea, maiden, with me, 

Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; 
Seasons may roll, but the true soul 

Burns the same, where'er it goes. 



OH, HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE OF OUR 
OWN! 

Oh, had we some bright little isle of our own, 
In a blue summer ocean far off and alone, 
"Where a leaf never dies in the still-blooming bowers, 
And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers; 
Where the sun loves to pause with so fond a delay, 
That the night only draws a thin veil o'er the day; 
Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, 
Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give ! 

There with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime, 
We should love as they loved in the first golden time ; 
The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air, 
Would steal to bur hearts, and make all summer there. 
With affection as free from decline as the bowers, 
And with hope like the bee, living always on flowers, 
Our life should resemble a long day of light, 
And our death come on holy and calm as the night. 



WHEN F1SST I MET THEE. «$f 

WHEff FIRST I MET THEE. 

When first I met thee, warm and young, 

There shone such truth about thee, 
And on thy lip such promise hung, 

I did not dare to doubt thee. 
I saw thee change, yet still relied, 
Still clung with hope the fonder, 
And thought, though false to all beside. 
From me thou couldst not wander. 
But go, deceiver! go — 

The heart, whose hopes could make it 
Trust one so false, so low, 

Deserves that thou shouldst break it 

"When every tongue thy follies named, 

I fled the unwelcome story; 
Or found, in even the faults they blamed, 

Some gleams of future glory. 
I still was true, when nearer friends 

Conspired to wrong, to slight thee; 
The heart that now thy falsehood rends, 
Would then have bled to right thee. 
But go, deceiver! go — 

Some day, perhaps thou'lt waken 
From pleasure's dream, to know 
The grief of hearts forsaken. 

Even now, though youth its bloom has shed, 

No lights of age adorn thee : 
The few who loved thee once have fled, 

And they who flatter scorn thee. 
Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves, * 

No genial ties enwreath it ; 
The smiling there, like light on graves, 
Has rank, cold hearts beneath it. 

Go — go — though worlds were thine, 

I would not now surrender 
One taintless tear of mine 
For all thy guilty splendor ! 



48 THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING. 

And days may come, thou false one, yet, 

When even those ties shall sever; 
When thou wilt call, with vain regret, 

On her thou'st lost forever ; 
On her who, in thy fortune's fall, 

With smiles had still received thee, 
And gladly died to prove thee all 
Her fancy first believed thee. 
Go — go — 'tis vain to curse, 

'Tis weakness to upbraid thee ; 
Hate cannot wish thee worse 

Than guilt and shame have made thee I 



THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING. 

The time I've lost in wooing, 

In watching and pursuing 
The light that lies in woman's eyes, 

Has been my heart's undoing. 

Though Wisdom oft has sought me, 

I scorned fche lore she brought me ; 
My only books were woman's looks, 

And folly's all they've taught me! 

Her smile, when Beauty granted, 
I hung with gaze enchanted, 

Like him the Sprite whom maids by night 
Oft meet in glen that's haunted. 
Like him, too, Beauty won me, 
But while her eyes were on me, 

If once their ray was turned away, 
Oh, winds could not outrun me ! 

And are those follies going ? 
And is my proud heart growing 
Too cold or wise for brilliant eyes 
Again to set it glowing? 



HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED? 49 

No — vain, alas! th' endeavor 
From bonds so sweet to sever! 
Poor Wisdom's chance against a glance 
Is now as weak as ever. 



HAS SOREOW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED? 

Has sorrow thy young days shaded, 

As clouds o'er the morning fleet? 
Too fast have those young days faded, 

That, even in sorrow, were sweet ? 
Does Time with his cold wing wither 

Each feeling that once was dear? — 
Then, child of misfortune, come hither! 

I'll weep with thee, tear for tear. 

Has Love to that soul, so tender, 

Been like our Lagenian mine, 
Where sparkles of golden splendor 

All over the surface shine? 
But. if in pursuit we go deeper, 

Allured by the gleam that shone, 
Ah, false as the dream of the sleeper, 

Like Love, the bright ore is gone ! 

Has Hope, like the bird in the story, 

That flitted from tree to tree 
"With the talisman's glittering glory — 

Has Hope been that bird to thee? 
On branch after branch alighting, 

The gem did she still display, 
And, when nearest and most inviting, 

Then waft the fair gem away? 

If thus the young hours have fleeted, 
When sorrow itself looked bright; 

If thus the fair hope hath cheated, 
That led thee along so light ; 



50 OH, wheke's the slave? 

If thus the cold world now wither 
Each feeling that once was dear — 

Come, child of misfortune, come hither I 
I'll weep with thee, tear for tear. 



NO, NOT MORE WELCOME 

No, not more welcome the fairy numbers 

Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, 
"When, half awaking from fearful slumbers, 

He thinks the full choir of heaven is near — 
Than came that voice, when, all forsaken, 

This heart long bad sleeping lain, 
Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken 

To such benign, blessed sounds again. 

Sweet voice of comfort! 'twas like the stealing 

Of summer wind through some wreathed shell — 
Each secret winding, each inmost feeling 

Of all my soul echoed to its spell ! — 
'Twas whispered balm — 'twas sunshine spoken 1— 

I'd live years of grief and pain 
To have my long sleep of sorrow broken 

By such benign, blessed sounds again. 



OH, WHERE'S THE SLAVE ? # 

Oh, where's the slave so lowly 
Condemned to chains unholy, 

"Who, could he burst his bonds at first, 
Would pine beneath them slowly? 
"What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, 
"Would wait till time decayed it, 

"When thus its wing at once may spring 
To the throne of Him who made it? 
Farewell, Erin — farewell all, 
"Who live to weep our fall 1 



'tis gone, and forever. 51 

Less dear the laurel growing 

Alive, untouched, and blowing, 
Than that whose braid is plucked to shade 

The brows with victory glowing. 

We tread the land that bore us — 

Her green flag glitters o'er us; 
The friends we've tried are by our side, 

And the foe we hate before us ! 
Farewell, Erin — farewell all, 
"Who live to weep our fall ! 



'TIS GONE, AND POREVER. 

'Tis gone, and forever, the light we saw breaking, 

Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the dead — 
When Man, from the slumber of ages awaking. 

Looked upward, and blest the pure ray, ere it fled. 
'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning 
But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning, 
That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning, 
And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o'er thee ! 

For high was thy hope, when those glories were darting 
Around thee through all the gross clouds of the world ; 
When Truth, from her fetters indignantly starting, 

At once like a sunburst her banner unfurled ! 
Oh, never shall earth see a moment so splendid! — 
Then — then — had one hymn of deliverance blended 
The tongues (Jf all nations — how sweet had ascended 
The first note of Liberty, Erin, from thee ! 

But, shame on those tyrants who envied the blessing! 

And shame on the light ratje unworthy its good, 
Who, at Death's reeking altar, like furies caressing 

The young hope of Freedom, baptized it in blood! 
Then vanished forever that fair, sunny vision, 
Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's derision, 
Shall long be remembered, pure, bright, and elysian, 

As first it arose, my lost Erin, on thee I 



52 I SAW FROM THE BEACH. 



COME, EEST IN THIS BOSOM. 

Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer: 
Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here: 
Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast. 
And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. 

Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same 
Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame ? 
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart — 
I but kuow that I love thee, whatever thou art! 

Thou hast called me thy angel in moments of bliss, 
And thy angel I'll be, 'mid the horrors of this, 
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, 
And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too ! 



I SAW PROM THE BEACH. 

I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, 
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on : 

I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining — 
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone. 

And such is the fate of our life's early promise, 
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known ; 

Each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs from us, 
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. 

Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorning 

The close of our day, the calm eve of our night — 

Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of Morning, 
Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best light. 

Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning, 
When passion first waked a new life through his frame, 

And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning, 
Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame I 



LOVE THEE, DEAREST, LOVE THEE? 53 



OH, TE8-S0 WELL, SO TENDERLY! 

Oh, res — so well, so tenderly, 

Thou'rt loved, adored by me ; 
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, 

Are worthless without thee! 
Though brimmed with blisses pure and rare, 

Life's cup before me lay, 
Unless thy love were mingled there, 

I'd spurn the draught away. 

"Without thy smile, how joyl Q ssly 

All Glory's meeds I see ! 
And even the wreath of Victory 

Must owe its bloom to thee. 
Those worlds for which the conq'ror sighs, 

For me have now no charms; 
My only world those radiant eyes, 

My throne those circling arms ! 



LOVE THEE, DEAEEST, LOVE THEE? 

Love thee, dearest, love thee ? 

Yes, by yonder star I swear, 
Which, through tears, above, 

Shines so sadly fair, 
Though too oft dim with tears like him, 

Like him my truth will shine: 
And love thee, dearest, love thee? 

Yes — till death I'm thine I 

Leave thee, dearest, leave thee? 

No — that star is not more true; 
"When my vows deceive thee, 
He will wander too. 
A cloud of night may veil his light, 
And death shall darken mine; 
But leave thee, dearest, leave thee? 
No — till death I'm thine 1 
5* 



54 COULDST THOU LOOK AS DEAR. 



OH, YES, WHEN THE BLOOM. 

On, yes, when the bloom of Love's boyhood is o'er, 
He'll turn into Friendship that feels no decay ; 

And though time may take from him the wings he oner 
wore, 

The charms that remain will be bright as before, 
And he'll lose but his young trick of flying away. 

Then let it console thee, if Love should not stay, 

That Friendship our last happy moments shall crown, 

Like the shadows of morning, Love lessens away; 

"While Friendship, like those at the closing of day, 
Will linger and lengthen as life's sun goes down. 



COULDST THOU LOOK AS DEAR. 

Couldst thou look as dear, as when 

First I sighed for thee, 
Couldst thou make me feel again 
Every wish I breathed thee then, 

Oh, how blissful life would be! 
Hopes that now beguiling leave me, 

Joys that lie in slumber cold, 
All would wake, couldst thou but give me 

One dear smile like those of old. 

Oh, there's nothing left us now, 

But to mourn the past ! — 
Tain was every ardent vow; 
Never yet did Heaven allow 

Love so warm, so wild, to last. 
Not even Hope could now deceive me — 

Life itself looks dark and cold ; 
Oh, thou never more canst give me 

One dear smile like those of old 1 



DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY. 55 



OH, REMEMBER THE TIME! 

Oh, remember the time in La Mancha's shades, 

When our moments so blissfully flew ; 
When you called me the flower of Castilian maids, 

And I blushed to be called so by you ; 
When I taught you to warble the gay Seguadille, 

And to dance to the light castanet : 
Oh, never, dear youth, let you roam where you will, 

The delight of those moments forget ! 

They tell me you lovers from Erin's green Isle, 

Every hour a new passion can feel ; 
And that soon, in the light of some lovelier smile, 

You'll forget the poor maid of Castile. 
But they know not how brave in the battle you are, 

Or they never could think you would rove ; 
For 'tis always the spirit most gallant in war, 

That is fondest and truest in love. 



DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY. 

Dear Harp of my country ! in darkness I found thee ; 

The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long ; 
When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound thee, 

And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song! 
The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness 

Have wakened thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; 
But so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness, 

That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still. 

Dear Harp of my country ! farewell to thy numbers — 

This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine; 
Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers, 

Till touched by some hand less unworthy than mine: 
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, 

Have throbbed at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone ; 
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over, 

And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own. 



56 JOYS THAT PASS AWAY. 

FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM, 

From life without freedom, oh, who would not fly ? 
For one day of freedom, oh, who would not die ? 
Hark, hark ! His the trumpet, the call of the brave, 
The death-song of tyrants, and dirge of the slave. 
Our country lies bleeding — oh, fly to her aid ! 
One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade. 

In Death's kindly bosom our last hope remains — 
The dead fear no tyrants; the grave has no chains: 
On, on to the combat! the heroes that bleed 
For virtue and mankind, are heroes indeed! 
And oh, even if Freedom from this world be driven, 
Despair not — at least we shall find her in heaven ! 



JOTS THAT FASS AWAY. 

■ Joys that pass away like this, 

Alas ! are purchased dear 
If every beam of bliss 

Is followed by a tear. 
Fare thee well — oh, fare thee well ! 
Soon, too soon, thou hast broke the spell. 
Oh, I ne'er can love again 

The girl, whose faithless art 
Could break so dear a chain, 
And with it break my heart! 

Once, when truth was in those eyes, 

How beautiful they shone I 
But now that lustre flies, 

For truth, alas 1 is gone. 
Fare thee well — oh, fare thee well! 
How I've loved my hate shall tell. 

Oh, how lorn, how lost would prove 

Thy wretched victim's fate, 
If, when deceived in love, 
He could not fly to hate ! 



FILL TEE BUMPER FAIE. 5< 



FILL THE BimPEB, FAIR. 

Pell the bumper fair ! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care, 

Smoothes away a wrinkle. 
"Wit's electric flame 

Ne'er so swiftly passes 
As when through the frame 

It shoots from brimming glasses. 
Fill the bumper fair! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care, 

Smoothes away a wrinkle. 

Sages can, they say, 

Grasp the lightning's pinions, 
And bring down its ray 

From the starr'd dominions: 
So we, Sages, sit, 

And 'mid bumpers bright'ning, 
From the heaven of Wit 

Draw down all its lightning. 

"Wouldst thou know what first 

Made our souls inherit 
This ennobling thirst 

For wine's celestial spirit? 
It chanced upon that day, 

When, as bards inform us, 
Prometheus stole away 

The living fires that warm us. 

The careless Youth, when up 

To G-lory's fount aspiring, 
Took nor urn nor cup 

To hide the pilfered fire in — 
But oh, his joy! when round 

The halls of heaven spying, 
Among the stars he found 

A bowl of Bacchus lying I 



58 LIGHT SOUNDS THE HARP. 

Some drops were in that bowl, 

Remains of last night's pleasure, 
"With which the Sparks of Soul 

Mixed their burning treasure. 
Hence the goblet's shower 

Hath such spells to win us; 
Hence its mighty power 

O'er that flame within us. 
Pill the bumper fair 1 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care, 

Smoothes away a wrinkle. 



LIGHT SOUNDS THE HARP. 

Light sounds the Harp, when the combat is over, 
When heroes are resting, and Joy is in bloom; 
When laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, 
And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume. 
But when the foe returns, 
Again the hero burns — 
High flames the sword in his hand once more; 
The clang of mingling arms 
Is then the sound that charms, 
And brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets sung! 
Oh, then comes the Harp, when the combat is over, 

When heroes are resting, and Joy is in bloom ; 

When laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, 

And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume. 

Light went the Harp, when the War-God, reclining, 

Lay lulled on the white arm of Beauty to rest; 
When round his rich armor the myrtle hung twining, 
And flights of young doves made his helmet their rest. 

But when the battle came, 

The hero's eye breathed flame; 
Soon from his neck the white arm was flung; 

While, to his wakening ear, 

No other sounds were dear, 
But the brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets sung. 



love's light summer-cloud. 59 

But then came the light Harp, when danger was ended. 
And Beauty once more lulled the War-G-od to rest; 

"When tresses of gold with his laurels lay blended, 

And flights of young doves made his helmet their rest. 



A FINLAND LOVE-SONG, 

I saw the moon rise clear 

O'er hills and dales of snow, 
Nor told my fleet rein-deer 

The way I wished to go; 
But quick he bounded forth, 

For well my rein-deer knew 
I've but one path on earth — 

That path which leads to you ! 

The gloom that Winter cast, 

How soon the heart forgets; 
When Summer brings at last 

Her sun that never sets ! 
So dawned my love for you, 

And, chasing every pain, 
Than summer sun more true, 

'Twill never set again. 



LOVE'S LIGHT SUMMER-CLOUD. 

Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us — 

Youth may wither, but feeling will last: 
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us, 

Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. 
Oh, if to love thee more, each hour I number o'er; 

If this a passion be worthy of thee, 
Then be happy, for thus I adore thee — 

Charms may wither, but feeling will last; 
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee, 

Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. 



60 WHEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET. 

Rest, dear bosom ! no sorrow shall pain thee, 

Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal; 
Beam bright, eyelid 1 no weeping shall stain thee — 

Tears of rapture alone thou shalt feel. 
Oh, if there be a charm in love to banish harm; 

If pleasure's truest spell be to love well, 
Then be happy, for thus I adore thee — 

Charms may wither, but feeling wijl last; 
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee, 

Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. 



WEEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET. 

When midst the gay I meet 

That geutle smile of thine, 
Though still on me it turned most sweet, 

I scarce can call it mine. 
But, when to me alone 

Your secret tears you show, 
Oh, then I feel those tears my own, 

And claim them while they flow. 
Then still with bright looks bless 

The gay, the cold, the free; 
Give smiles to those who love you less, 

But keep your tears for me. 

The snow on Jura's steep 

Can smile with many a beam, 
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep, 

How bright soe'er it seem ; 
But when some deep-felt ray, 

Whose touch is fire, appears, 
Oh, then the smile is warmed away, 

And, melting, turns to tears. 
Then still with bright looks bless 

The gay, the cold, the free ; 
Give smiles to those who love you less, 

But keep your tears for me 1 



THE PRINCE'S DAY. 61 



THE PEINOE'S DAY. 

Though dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them, 

And smile through our tears, like a sunbeam in showers: 
There never were hearts, if our rulers would let them, 
More formed to be grateful and blest than ours. 
But just when the chain 
Has ceased to pain, 
And Hope has enwreathed it round with flowers, 
There comes a new link 
Our spirits to sink — 
Oh, the joy that we taste, like the light of the poles, 

Is a -flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay; 

But, though 'twere the last little spark in our souls, 

"We must light it up now, on our Prince's Dayl 

Contempt on the minion who calls you disloyal! 

Though fierce to your foe, to your friends you are true; 
And the tribute most high to a head that is royal, 
Is love from a heart that loves liberty too. 
While cowards, who blight 
Your fame, your right, 
"Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array, 
The Standard of Green 
In front would be seen — 
Oh, my life on your faith ! were you summoned this minute, 

You'd cast every bitter remembrance away, 
And show what the arm of old Erin has in it, 
When roused by the foe, on her Prince's Day! 

He loves the Green Isle, and his love is recorded 

In hearts which have suffered too much to forget: 
And hope shall be crowned, and attachment rewarded, 
And Erin's gay jubilee shine out yet! 
The gem may be broke 
By many a stroke, 
But nothing can cloud its native ray; 
Each fragment will cast 
A light to the last— 
6 



62 LOVE, MY MARY, DWELLS WITH THEE. 

And thus Erin, my country, though broken thou art, 
There's a lustre within thee that ne'er will decay; 

A spirit which beams through each suffering part, 
And now smiles at all pain on the Prince's Day. 



WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS. 

"When twilight dews are falling soft; 

Upon the rosy sea, love, 
I watch the star whose beam so oft 

Has lighted me to thee, love. 
And thou, too, on that orb so dear, 

Ah, dost thou gaze at even — 
And think, though lost forever here, 

Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven? 

There's not a garden-walk I tread, 

There's not a flower I see, love, 
But brings to mind some hope that's fled, 

Some joy I've lost with thee, love. 
And still I. wish that hour was near, 

When, friends and foes forgiven, 
The pains, the ills we've wept through here, 

May turn to smiles in heaven. 



DUET. 

LOVE, MY MART, DWELLS WITH THEE. 

He. — Loye, my Mary, dwells with thee, 

On thy cheek his bed I see. 
She. — No, that cheek is pale with care — 

Love can find no roses there. 
Both. — 'Tis not on the bed of rose, 

Love can find the best repose: 

In my heart his home thou'lt see — 

There he lives, and lives for thee. 



THE EAST INDIAN. 63 

He. — Love, my Mary, ne'er can roam, 

While he makes that eye his home. 
She. — No, the eye with sorrow dim, 
Ne'er can be a home for him. 
Both. — Yet 'tis not in beaming eyes, 
Love forever warmest lies ; 
In my heart his home thou'lt see- 
There he lives, and lives for thee ! 



THE EAST INDIAN. 

Come, May, with all thy flowers, 

Thy sweetly-scented thorn, 
Thy cooling evening showers, 

Thy fragrant breath at morn! 
"When May-flies haunt the willow, 

When May-buds tempt the bee, 
Then, o'er the shining billow 

My love will come to me. 

From Eastern isles, she wingeth 

Through watery wiles her way, 
And on her cheek she bringeth 

The bright sun's orient ray! 
Oh, come and court her hither, 

Ye breezes mild and warm ; 
One winter's gale would wither 

So soft, so pure a form ! 

The fields where she was straying 

Are blest with endless light; 
"With zephyrs always playing 

Through gardens always bright. 
Then now, May ! be sweeter 

Than e'er thou'st been before; 
Let sighs from roses meet her, 

When she comes near our shore ! 



64 THE SONG OF WAR. 

HERE'S THE BOWER. 

Here's the bower she loved so much, 

And the tree she planted; 
Here's the harp she used to touch — 

Oh, how that touch enchanted I 
Roses now unheeded sigh, 

Where's the hand to wreathe them? 
Songs around neglected lie, 

Where's the lip to breathe them? 
Here's the bower she loved so much, 

And the tree she planted ; 
Here's the harp she used to touch — 

Oh, how that touch enchanted! 

Spring, may bloom, but she we loved 

Ne'er shall feel its sweetness- 
Time, that once so fleetly moved, 

Now hath lost its ileetness. 
Years were days, when here she strayed- 
Days were moments near her; 
Heaven ne'er formed a brighter maid, 

Nor Pity wept a dearer ! 
Here's the bower she loved so much, 

And the tree she planted ; 
Here's the harp she used to touch — 
Oh, how that touch enchanted I 



THE SONG OF WAR. 

The song of war shall echo through our mountains, 
Till not one hateful link remains 
Of slavery's ling'ring chains — 
Till not one tyrant tread our plains, 

Nor traitor-lip pollute our fountains! 

No, never till that glorious day, 

Shall Lusitania's sons be gay, 

Or hear, Peace, thy welcome lay 

Resounding through her sunny mountains ! 



OH, SOON RETURN] 65 

The song of war shall echo through our mountains, 
Till Victory's self shall smiling say — 
u Your cloud of foes hath passed away, 
u And Freedom comes, with new-born raj, 

" To gild your vines and light your fountains!" 
Oh, never till that glorious day, 
Shall Lusitania's sons be gay, 
Or hear, Peace, thy welcome lay 

Resounding through her sunny mountains I 



OH, SOON KETURN! 

Our white sail caught the evening ray, 

The wave beneath us seemed to burn, 
"When all my weeping love could say, 

Was — "Oh, soon return!" 
Through many a clime our ship was driven, 

O'er many a billow rudely thrown ; 
Now chilled beneath a northern heaven, 

Now sunned by summer's zone. 
Yet still, where'er our course we lay, 

When evening bid the west wave burn, 
I thought I heard her faintly say — 

4 " Oh, soon return!" 

If ever yet my bosom found 

Its thoughts a moment turned from thee, 
'Twas when the combat raged around, 

And brave men looked to me. 
But, though 'mid battle's wild alarm, 

Love's gentle power might not appear, 
fle gave to Glory's brow the charm 

That made even danger dear. 
And when the vict'ry's calm came o'er 

The hearts where rage had ceased to burn, 
I heard that farewell voice once more — 

"Oh, soon return V ' 
6* 



66 TO ladies' eyes. 

TO LADIES' EYES. 

To ladies' eyes a round, boy ! ^ 

We can't refuse, we can't refuse, 
Though bright eyes so abound, boy, 

'Tis hard to choose, 'tis hard to choose; 
For thick as stars that lighten 

Yon airy bowers, yon airy bowers, 
The countless eyes that brighten 

This earth of ours, this earth of ours. 
But fill the cup — where'er, boy, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all, so drink them all ! 

Some looks there are so holy, 

They seem but given, they seem but given, 
As shining beacons, solely, 

To light to heaven, to light to heaven : 
While some — oh, ne'er believe them — 

With tempting ray, with tempting ray, 
Would lead us (G-od forgive them !) 

The other way, the other way. 
But fill the cup — where'er, boy, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all, so drink them all ! 

In some, as in a mirror, 

Love seems portrayed, Love seems portrayed ; 
But shun the flattering error — 

'Tis but his shade, 'tis but his shade: 
Himself has fixed his dwelling 

In eyes we know, in eyes we know, 
And lips — but this is telling — -v 

So here they go, so here they go! 
Fill up, fill up — where'er, boy, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all, so drink them all I 



OH, BAXQUET NOT! 67 

I'VE A SECRET TO TELL THEE, 

I've a secret to tell thee, but hush ! not here — 

Oh, not where the world its vigil keeps: 
I'll seek, to whisper it in thine ear, 

Some shore where the Spirit of Silence sleeps; 
Where Summer's wave unmurm'ring dies, 

Nor Fay can hear the fountain's gush ; 
"Where, if but a note her night-bird sighs, 

The Rose saith, chidingly, " Hush, sweet, hushl" 

There, amid the deep silence of that hour, 

When stars can be heard in ocean dip, 
Thyself shall, under some rosy bower, 

Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip: 
Like him. the boy who, born among 

The flowers that on the Nile-stream blush, 
Sits ever thus — his only song, 

To earth and heaven, " Hush, all, hushl" 



OH, BANQUET NOT ' 

Oh, banquet not in those shining bowers, 

Where Youth resorts, but come to me : 
For mine'3 a garden of faded flowers, 

More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee. 
And there we shall have our feasts of tears, 

And many a cup' in silence pour; 
Our guests, the shades of former years — 

Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more ! 

There, while the myrtle's withering boughs 

Their lifeless leaves around us shed, 
We'll brim the bowl to broken vows, 

To friends long lost, the changed, the dead! 
Or, while some blighted laurel waves 

Its branches o'er the dreary spot, 
We'll drink to those neglected graves 

Where Yalor sleeps, unnamed, forgot ! 



68 THE MO UXTAIX- SPRITE. 

THE FOETOTE-TELLER. 

Down in the valley come meet me to-night, 

And I will tell you your fortune truly 
As ever was told, by the new-moon's light, 

To a young maiden, shining as newly. 
But, for the world, let no one be nigh, 

Lest haply the stars should deceive me: 
Such secrets between you and me and the sky 

Should never go farther, believe me. 

If at that hour the heavens be not dim, 

My science shall call up before you 
A male apparition — the image of him 

Whose destiny it is to adore you. 
And if to that phantom you will be kind, 

So fondly around you he'll hover, 
You'll hardly, my dear, any difference find 

'Twixt him and a true, living lover! 

Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight, 

He'll kneel, with a warmth of devotion — 
An ardor, of which such an innocent sprite 

You'd scarcely believe had a notion 1 
What other thoughts and events may arise, 

As in Destiny's book I've not seen them, 
Must only be left to the stars and your eyes 

To settle, ere morning, between them. 



THE MOUNTAIff-SPKITE. 

In yonder valley there dwelt, alone, 

A youth, whose moments had calmly flown, 

Till spells came o'er him, and, day and night, 

He was haunted and watched by a Mountain-Sprite. 

As once, by moonlight, he wandered o'er 
The golden sands of that island-shore, 
A foot-print sparkled before his sight — 
'Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain-Sprite ! 



WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE. 69 

Beside a fountain, one sunny day, 

As bending over the stream he lay, 

There peeped down o'er him two eyes of light, 

And he saw in that mirror the Mountain-Sprite! 

He turned, but lo ! like a startled bird, 

That spirit fled ! — and the youth but heard 

Sweet music, such as marks the flight 

Of some bird of song, from the Mountain-Sprite. 

One night, still haunted by that bright look, 

The boy, bewildered, his pencil took, 

And, guided only by memory's light, 

Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain-Sprite. 

" thou, who lovest the shadow," cried 

A voice, low whispering by his side, 

"Now turn aud see!" — here the youth's delight 

Sealed the rosy lips of the Mountain-Sprite I 

" Of all the Spirits of land and sea," 

Then rapt he murmured, "there's none like thee; 

" And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light 

11 In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain-Sprite ! " 



WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE. 

While History's Muse the memorial was keeping 

Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves, 
Beside her the G-enius of Erin stood weeping, 

For hers was the story that blotted the leaves. 
But oh, how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, 

When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame, 
She saw History write, with a pencil of light 

That illumined the whole volume, her Wellington's name! 

"Hail, Star of my Isle!" said the Spirit, all sparkling 
With beams such as break from her own dewy skies— 

'Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, 
"I've watched for some glory like thine to arise. 



70 TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE. 

"For though heroes I've numbered, unblest was their lot, 
" And unhallowed they sleep in the cross-ways of Fame ; 

"Bat oh, there is not one dishonoring blot 

" On the wreath, that encircles my Wellington's name ! 

" Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, 

"The grandest, the purest, even thou hast yet known; 
"Though proud was thy task, other nations unchaining, 

"Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own. 
"At the foot of that throne for whose weal thou hast stood, 

" Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame — 
"And, bright o'er the flood of her tears and her blood, 

"Let the rainbow of Hope be her Wellington's namel" 



TAKE BACK THE VIEGIN PAGE. 

Written on returning a Blank- Book, 

Take back the virgin page, 

White and unwritten still; 
Some hand, more calm and sage, 

The leaf must fill. 
Thoughts come as pure as light, 

Pure as even you require; 
But oh, each word I write 

Love turns to fire ! 

Yet let me keep the book ; 

Oft shall my heart renew, 
When on its leaves I look, 

Dear thoughts of you. 
Like you, 'tis fair and bright; 

Like you, too bright and fair 
To let wild Passion write 

One wrong wish there. 

Haply, when from those eyea 

Far, far away I roam, 
Should calmer thoughts arise 

Towards you and home— 



THE NIGHT-DANCE. 71 

Fancy may trace some line 

Worthy those eyes to meet; 
Thoughts that not burn, but shine 

Pure, calm, aud sweet. 

And as, o'er ocean far, 

Seamen their records keep, 
Led by some hidden star 

Through the cold deep ; 
So may the words I write 

Tell through what storms I stray — 
You still the unseen light 

Guiding my way. 



THE NIGHT-DANCE. 

Strike the gay harp! — see, the moon is on high; 

And, as true to her beam as the tides of the ocean, 
Young hearts, when they feel the soft light of her eye, 

Obey the mute call, and heave into motion. 
Then sound, notes — the gayest, the lightest, 
That ever took wing, when heaven looked brightest! 

Again I again! — 
Oh, could such heart-stirring music be heard 

In that City of Statues described by romancers, 
So wakening its spell, even stone would be stirred, 

And statues themselves all start into dancers! 

Why then delay, with such sounds in our ears, 

And the flower of Beauty's own garden before us— 
While stars overhead leave the song of their spheres, 

And, list'ning to ours, hang wondering o'er us? 
Again, that strain! — to hear it thus sounding 
Might set even Death's cold pulses bounding — 

Again ! again ! — 
Oh, what delight when the youthful and gay, 

Each with eye like a sunbeam, and foot like a feather, 
Thus dance, like the Hours, to-the music of May, 

And mingle sweet song and sunshine together 1 



72 AS SLOW OUR SHIP. 

AS SLOW OUR SHIP. 

As slow our ship her foamy track 

Against the wind was cleaving, 
Her trembling pennant still looked back 

To that dear Isle 'twas leaving. 
So loath we part from all we love, 

From all the links that bind us; 
So turn our hearts, as on we rove, 

To those we've left behind us. 

"When, round the bowl, of vanished years 

"We talk, with joyous seeming — 
With smiles that might as well be tears, 

So faint, so sad their beaming; 
"While memory brings us back again 

Each early tie that twined us, 
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then 

To those we've left behind us! 

And when, in other climes, we meet 

Some isle or vale enchanting — 
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet, 

And naught but love is wanting; 
We think how great had been our bliss, 

If Heaven had but assigned us 
To live and die in scenes like this, 

With some we've left behind us ! 

As travellers oft look back at eve, 

When eastward darkly going, 
To gaze upon that light the} T leave, 

Still faint behind them glowing — ■ 
So when the close of pleasure's day 

To gloom hath ne'er consigned us, 
We turn to catch one fading ray 

Of joy that's left behind us. 



THE ENB. 



FEANK BEO WEB'S 

BLACK-DIAMOND 

SOHSTEE, 



HAPPY UNCLE TOM. 

A Celebrated Plantation Scene, 

Originally and solely performed by Frank Brower, in all the prin- 
cipal Cities of the United States. 

[Enter Jeff, with banjo.'] "What ! Uncle Tommy not here 
yet ? De old man promised to meet me here at half-past 
eight, and it's after that time now. Well, I'll just sit down 
and amuse myself until he comes along. [Plays. Enter 
Uncle Tom, singing.'] 

Tom. Why, hullo, Jeff! how de doo? [Shaking hands.] 

Jeff. How de doo, Uncle Tommy? 

Tom. I declar, Jeff, I wouldn't know'd you if I hadn't 
see'd you I What are you doin' down here? 

Jeff. I'm waitin' here for you to go down to de ball. 

Tom. What ball? 

Jeff. Why, Aunt Susey's ball. 

Tom. Is dat to-night ? 

Jeff. It's to-night. 

Tom. Eh? 

Jeff. I say, it's to-night. 

Tom. You goin' down? 

Jeff. I'm goin' down. 

Tom. Eh? 

Jeff. I say, I'm goin' down. 

Tom. What you goin' to do? — wait on de table? 
1* 



6 HAPPY UNCLE TOM. 

Jeff. Wait on de table! No, indeed. I'se goin' down 
as a musician — 

Tom. Eh? 

Jeff. I'm goin' down as a musician. 

Tom. Oh, no you ain't. 

Jeff. I tell you I am. 

Tom. You ain't ! 

Jeff. Why, I tell you I am ! 

Tom. Am you ? 

Jeff. [Mad.'] Why, of course I am. Why am-i-ty ? 

Tom. Why, then you am — what down to de white folks' 
hop-up? 

Jeff. Yes, down among de white folks. 

Tom. You don't tole me so! What do you play on? 

Jeff. I play on dis. [Holding up the banjo.] 

Tom. What! down among de white folks? [Taking the 
banjo.] You don't tole me so! [Examines the banjo.] I 
declar, what's dis world comin' to! — Is dis yours? 

Jeff. It's mine. 

Tom. Eh? 

Jeff. I say, It's mine. 

Tom. It's nice. 

Jeff. Yes, it's very nice. 

Tom. Eh? 

Jeff. I say, It's very nice. 

Tom. Jeff, is dis de same one what you got now? 

Jeff. Dat's de same one I got now. I never had any 
other. 

Tom. Eh? 

Jeff. I say, dat's de same one I got now, and I never 
had any other. 

Tom. Den, ob course, dis must be de same one what you 
always got now. 

Jeff. Oh, don't I tell you that I never had any other 
one? 

Tom. Dat's what I think'd. It's nice. 

Jeff. It's very nice. 

Tom. Eh? 

Jeff. I say, it's very nice. 



HAPPY UNCLE TOM. 7 

Tom. Do you play it ? 

Jeff. Certainly I play it. 

Tom. [Examining the screws."] G-oold ? 

Jeff. Nothin' but steel and brass. 

Tom. Eh? 

Jeff. Nothin' but steel and brass. 

Tarn. You steel'd de brass? 

Jeff. Oh, you don't understand me ! Steel and brass are 
metals. 

Tom. Oh, yes, steel and brass is a metal. It's nice. 

Jeff. Yes, it's very nice. 

Tom. Eh? 

Jeff. I say. it's very nice. 

Tom. Dear ? Does it cost much for to occupy one o' dem 
things ? 

Jeff. You want to know if they are expensive. 

Tom. Eh? 

Jeff. You want to know if they cost much. 

Tom. Yes. 

Jeff. I gave sixty dollars for dat one. 

Tom. Eh? [Astonished.'] How much? 

Jeff. Sixty dollars. 

Tom. What! sixty dollars for a thing like dat? 

Jeff. Well, you see, it was not so much for de instrument 
as it was for de tone. 

Tom. Oh. sixty dollars for de tone! 

Jeff. Oh. no — you don't understand me ; sixty dollars for 
de instrument and tone combined. 

Tom. Sixty dollars for de thing just as it stood. 

Jeff. Just as you see it. 

Tom. [Examining it.] Sixty dollars ! 

Jeff. Why, you are not surprised at the price, are you? 

Tom. Oh, no! oh, no! I'm only surprised to know 
whar you got de money to git it wid. Sixty dollars for a. 
thing like dat ! [Handing it to Jeff.] Is it in kilter? 

Jeff. In what? I don't understand you. 

Tom. I mean, is it in kilter? 

Jeff. Oh, you want to know if it's in tune ! 

Tom. Yes, dat's it. 



8 FILLIBUSTER SAM. 

Jeff. "Well, I'll just run over it, and see. [Plays.'] 
Tom. [Excited.'] Oh, just gib me some ob dat, aud may- 
be I'll go down to de ball wid you ! 

[Dance.] 



FILLIBUSTER SAM. 

An Original Ethiopian Act. 

Always received with immense applause. 

Air — " Soap-Fat Man." 

Now, white folks, list to me to-night, 

For I'se gwine away wid de morning's light; 

By Uncle Abe I'm a soger* made, 

And I'm goin' to fight wid de Black Brigade ! 
My name is Filibuster Sam, 
To fight de rebels I'm de man ; 
Of old Jeff D. I'm not afraid, 
Since I have joined de Black Brigade ! 

Chorus and March. 
I'll shoulder my old blunderbuss, 
And jump right into de middle ob de muss; 
I'll fight like de debil, as hard as I can, 
'Kase I'm a Union soger-manl 

I'll start right off to Richmond town, 
And den to Charleston I'll go down; 
De rebel roosters, all afraid, 
Will skedaddle from de Black Brigade. 

And den old Uncle Abe, you see, 

Will make a brigadier of me, 

'Kase I'm a Union soger-man — 

My name is Fillibuster Sam ! 

I'll shoulder, etc. 

Bar's England tryin' for to raise a fuss, 
And France, too, wants to make a muss : 



THE PORT ROYAL CONTRABAND. 

Well, let dem try as hard as dey can — 

Dey can't back down ole Uncle Sam ; 
Our Union if dey try to burst, 
Dey's surely bound to get de worst — 
For fightin' is de Yankee's trade, 
And I'se gwine along wid de Black Brigade ! 
I'll shoulder, etc. 

Now, if old Jeff is only wise, 
He'll wake, and open both his eves; 
And at once to de Union he'll come back, 
Or we'll soon clear him off de track ! 

And den he'll find his schemes played out, 

And all his army put to rout ; 

For soon we'll stop each rebel raid, 

When I march along wid de Black Brigade 1 
I'll shoulder, etc. 

Now let us all stand by our cause, 

De Constitution and de laws ; 

We'll join togeder. hand in hand, 

To drive Secession from de land: 

De traitors, trembling in deir fears, 
Will skedaddle from our volunteers ; 
If Jeff don't run, may I be dam, 
When he meets wid Fillibuster Sam 1 
I'll shoulder, etc. 



THE POET ROYAL CONTRABAND. 

Ethiopian Song and Dance. 
Ant — " Uncle Snow." 

Now list to what I say, 
And I'll tole you right away 

Of what's a-goin' forward in de nation; 
For all about de times 
I'll tole you in my rhymes, 

And try for to explain de situation. 



10 THE PORT ROYAL CONTRABAND. 

Chorus. 

Ah, ha, hey! 

Now list to what I say : 
I was taken by de army at Port Royal ; 

An' dough but a contraband, 

I always am on hand, 
And to de good ole Union I am loyal I 

Dar's our gallant soger-band 
Fightin' down in Dixie's land — 

De foes of our liberty dey're beatin' ; 
Dey won't lay by deir swords 
Till dey whips Jeff Davis' hordes, 

And set de rebel rascals all retreatin' ! 
Ah, ha, hey! etc. 

De contractors now-a-days, 

When dey get a job dat pays, 
Don't care about our country's condition; 

But dey plunder and dey rob, 

While every contract-job 
Is given to de friends ob politicians ! 
Ah, ha, hey! etc. 

Now united let us be, 

Like de branches ob a tree — 

We'll give in to de foe nary never; 
And when de war is done, 
Why, it's den we'll hab our fun, 

And we'll drink our gin-and-'lasses, boys, forever ! 
Ah, ha, hey! etc. 

Now my song is o'er — 

To-morrow night I'll sing some more, 
And I hope dat I've gained your approbation : 

I wish you all long life, 

Wid a fortune and a wife, 
To help you to increase de population! 
Ah, ha, hey! etc. 



DE MILK IX DE COCOA-NUT. 11 

DE MILK IN DE COCOA-NUT. 

An Ethiopian Stump-Speech, 
As delivered, with roars of applause, by Frank Bbotvee. 

Feller-fellers an' oder fellers, I rise dis evening to — 
to — to address you, my unworthy constituents, on de sub- 
ject of — of — of a'most anyting I can tink of. In de fust 
place, before proceeding to investigate de horizontal delapi- 
dation of de inuocular interregnum, so as to enumerate de 
legislative innovation of de former question as previously 
heretofore and etcetera double rule of three, knuckle down 
and fen grabbings, as de dishonorable member from Sing 
Sing anthiteticallously asserted in answer to my derogatory 
approximation of de aforesaid illustrative debility. My 
frens, dat accounts for de milk in de cocoa-nut I 

Feller-fellers and oder fellers, dere may be standing here 
on the floor of dis — dis — dis barn, certain, divers, sundry, 
various, and oder indiwidjimals, who, preferring self-preser- 
vation to self-defence, seek only de whereby and whereas, 
or, as I didn't said before, who — who — who cease to go 
forward from de time dey begin to retreat; while oders 
may chose to — to — chose to — may chose butter-cakes in- 
stead of fishballs, and — dat accounts for de milk in de co- 
coa-nut ! 

Feller-fellers and oder fellers, when de desideratums and 
de 'gipshuns built de crocodiles of de West, did dey — I 
say, could dey — dat is, did dey — or, in oder words, should 
dey — which may be translated ought dey, foretold de repu- 
diation of de pyramids of West Hoboken by de Prince of 
"Whales and — and — and oder land-sharks? Certainly not, 
and why? I'll tole you why, as de great poet Homulus and 
Remus declared to de editor of de Liebune — 

If your foot is pretty, show it ; 
If your cash is plenty, go it; 
If your horn is noisy, blow it — 

etcetera, and so forth, and so on, also, likewise, or any oder 
man ; and — dat accounts for de milk in de cocoa-nut I 



12 DS MILK IN UB COCOA-NUT. 

Feller-fellers and oder fellers, in de inspired language 01 
de author of "Who slaughtered de unoffending Cock Rob- 
in," let me ask — '■ 

Breathes dere a raau wid sole so dead, 

Wot neber to hisself has said, 

"I'll get drunk 'fore I go to bed, 

An' get up in de morn wid aching head ?" 

Not a man; and — dat accounts for de milk in de cocoa- 
nut! 

Feller-fellers and oder fellers, when Joan of Ark and his 
broder Noah's Ark crossed de Rubicund in search of De- 
camoran's horn, and meeting dat solitary hossman by de 
way, dey anapulated in de clarien tones of de clamurous 
rooster, de insigniiicatioii of de — de — de — de hop-toad am a 
very big bird — du da — du da dey — does it not prove dat 
when gold is up to a discount of two cups of coffee on 
de dollar, dat' bolivers must fall back into de radience of 
de — de — any ting else, dere fore at once and exclusively 
proving de fact dat de aforementioned accounts for de milk 
in de cocoa-nut! 

Feller-fellers and oder fellers, whence is de cry of de 
hungry alligator, when as he stands by de — de — de — 
wherever he does stand — I say — I say — when he stands 
dar crying, to 'lure de unconfiding wictim down to de 
rapacious recesses t his dental orifice, and so forth — I say, 
why does he cry, eh ? ah ? urn ? Consolidate your libries, 
consult your condictionary of natural botany and oder ani- 
mile, and dere you'll find it. My frens, de reason he cries 
so is — is — is — 'kase he wants to, which of course — accounts 
for de milk in de cocoa-nut!- 

Feller- fellers and oder fellers, de day has gone past when 
de aristocratic foundations for de hypersqualateral significa- 
tion precedes de conglomeration of intersections necessary 
to abbreviate de zampillearostating influences of de culina- 
ry disarrangements anterior to de corrosive contortions agi- 
tating de antedelivian sublimate, — or — in — oder — words, 
de effluverous instinctiveness of de delinquent constellation 
ramificating de various prestidigitations of de obtuse hu- 

\ 



A PARODY. 13 

mors of de Cagliostromanthemus' encyclopaedia — causes a 
registration of confluent precincts to obviate de necessary 
occasion for an occultation of metropolitan and correspond- 
ing segastric perambulations, dereby- acting on de capillary 
peculiarities of rosicrusian salutation, and fully agreeing to 
— to — to — to account for de milk in de cocoa-nut ! 



PARODY ON "WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER." 

Written and sung by Tony Pastob. 

(Published by permission.) 

Dearest Sal, do you remember 

When I marched away, 
With my gun upon my shoulder, 

Looking neat and gay? 
Now those shining regimentals 

All in rags appear; 
Darns and patches all about them — 

Awful times out here 1 

Chorus. 
"Weeping, sad, and lonely, 

Laws, how bad I feel — 
"When this cruel war is over, 

Praying for a good square meal ! 

I used to sport a diamond breastpin, 

Patent-leather boots; 
Take my bitters at the Carlton, 

Coffee at Meschutt's: 
Now the case is slightly altered — 

Here I've got to work, 
On biscuits twice as hard as brickbats, 

And gutta-percha pork ! 
Weeping, etc. 

And, of course, you do remember 
How I used & £pree — 
2 



14 DE CAPPY LAND OF HANAAN. 

A regular, gay, old-fashioned bender 

Was only fun to me : 
Here, in company with whiskey 

Nary time I've been; 
Pay a quarter to the sutler, 

And only get camphene \ 
Weeping, etc. 

How I miss my plate of fishballs, 

And my oyster-stew ; 
Hoping soon that I'll have plenty 

Of beef and mutton too I 
Then will we forget our sorrows — 

Married, you and I ; 
Then shall every thing be lovely, 

And the goose hang high I 
Weeping, etc. 



DE CAPPY LAND OF HANAAff. 

Ethiopian Song and Dance t 

Oh, I've just come out to sing, 
And I tink it's just de ting — 
De white folks I'm bound to entertain 'em; 
For everywhere you go, 
You'll find de folks jus' so, 
All strikin' for de cappy land of Hanaan ! 
Chorus. 
Oh ho, oh ! 
I tell you dat's de way, 
Hooraw! dere's no use in complainin'; 
But go de whole hog, 
As you fro' de world jog, 
Till you strike upon de cappy land of Hanaan ! 

De young fellers, now-a-days, 
Oh, dey swear dey're bound to blaze — 
When dey start ahead, dere's nofin' can detain 'em ; 



DE CAPPY LAND OF HAN A AN. 15 

Wid deir fast hoss on de road, 
And deir faster gal aboard, 
Oh, dey're strikin 1 for de cappy land of Hanaan! 
Oh ho, oh! etc. 

Now, in every big saloon, 

Just about de hour of noon, 
You'll see de Free-Lunch Guard admission gainin' — 

Take deir little whiskey-punch, 

Or anoder plate of lunch, 
Ben strike for de cappy land of Hanaan I 
Oh ho, oh ! etc. 

On any pleasant day, 

As you walk along Broadway, 
You'll see de ladies gay, if 'tisn't rainin'; 

If you just tip one de wink, 

And den follow her, I tink 
She'll tote you to de cappy land of Hanaan! 
Oh ho, oh 1 eta 

Now, de Southern folks, led on 

By de traitor Jefferson, 
I>ey have failed deir wicked object in gainin' ; 

Now, advised by Little Mac, 

To de Union dey'll come back, 
Or we'll drive 'em to de cappy land of Hanaan ! 
Oh ho, oh! etc. 



THE WRONG BILL. 

I say, Pety, I'm tinkin' of runnin' for Congress. Will 
you vote for me ? 

Go 'long, foolish nigger ! dey don't allow no boys dere. 

Yes, dey do, dough. 

How does you know dat ? 

'Kase I seed in de papers dat de members kicked Mr. 
Smith's Bill out of de house. 



16 BLOW TOUR HORff, GABRIEL ! 

BLOW YOUR HORN, GABRIEL I 

Ethiopian Song and Dance. 

Air — " Going round the Horn. ,, 

I've got a song to sing to you, so list to what I say — 
About de Nigger Destiny I'll tell you right away: 
" De Union !" used to be de cry — for dat we went it strong; 
But now de motto seems to be, " De nigger, right or wiong !" 

Chorus. 

Oh, de moke! oh, de moke! oh, de moke! 
Oh, oh, oh ! ho, ho ! 
Blow your horn, Gabriel, and sound it frough de land, 

Tor de niggers now have got a jubilee ; 
Meet me in de White House, I'll take you by de hand, 

ITor de darkey am de ruler of de day I 

Now in de house of Congress a speech is never spoke 
Widout dey have de nigger in — dey're bound to please de 

moke; 
But what dey're gwine to do wid him I'd really like to 

know : 
I'ts very well to set him free — but where's he gwan to 

go? 

Oh, de moke, etc. 

Some speak of colonizin' de niggers — dey would make 
A colored Mormon settlement, like Brigham's at Salt Lake; 
And some 'd make dem sogers — dis darkey wouldn't keer, 
If dey'd only make him general, a bully brigadier! 

Oh, de moke, etc. 

To run de mokes for office, wid some it is de plan; 
Dey say de nigger's just as good as " any oder man." 
But one ting I can tell — when all de fuss is o'er, 
De nig'll be no better off dan what he was before I 

Oh, de moke, etc. 



THE MBN OF THE DAY. 17 

THE MEN OF THE DAT. 

An Original Song, 

By Tony Pastor. 

Ate — "Aunt Jemima." 

Now I'm going to sing a song — 

So give ine your attention ; 
I'm sure I won't detain you long 

"With what I'm going to mention. 
And now to please you, one and all, 

It is my calculation: 
I'll sing about the generals 

That's fighting for the nation. 

Chorus. 

But while we sing the generals 
Who've won a nation's thanks, sir, 

We'll not forget the volunteers, 
That's fighting in the ranks, sir ! 

Now, there is General Rosecrans, 

He is a soldier thorough ; 
He nobly met and beat the foe 

Down at Murfreesboro : 
The rebels thought to put him down, 

Not liking his intrusion; 
But when he got to work, they soon 

Skedaddled in confusion. 

And there is G-eneral Butler, 

He proved he isn't green, sir; 
He quickly settled things to rights 

Down to New Orleans, sir. 
Though traitors raved, and vowed revenge, 

And swore to give him thunder, 
He ruled them with an iron hand 7 

And quickly put them under. 
2* 



13 THE DREAM OF THE HARD -UP. 

There is General Sigel, too, 

He is one of the best, sir; 
The rebels don't admire him much — 

Thej^'ve met him in the West, sir! 
And though they many a plan have tried, 

They cannot him inveigle ; 
The " Little Dutchman's" wide awake — 

A huukey-boy is Sigel 1 

There's General Thomas Francis Meagher 

A lasting fame has made, sir; 
In Freedom's cause he has nobly led 

His Irish bold Brigade, sir ! 
And Corcoran, too, is in the field — 

His name shall live in story; 
He'll lead his Irish Legion on 

To victory and glory. 

There's Banks and Dix, and Hooker, too, 

And plenty more beside, sir ; 
With one who always did his best — 

Brave General Burnside, sir: 
But best of all, I'll name you one — 

It's gallant young McOlellan ; 
He's just the man that's wanted back 

To finish this rebellion. 



THE DREAM OF THE HARD-UP. 

A Parody. 

By H. W. Egan. 

Aie— " I dreamt I dwelt," etc. 

I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, 

In one of those nice little rooms 
Where you don't find oil-paintings hung up on the walls — 

'Twas a cosy small cell in the Tombs 1 , 



OR ANY ODER MAN'S DOG. 19 

There were rats there too many to count — and a host 

Of smaller and hungrier game; 
And I also dreamt (which troubled me most) 
That the judge was pronouncing my name. 
I also, etc., etc. 

(With the usual bravuras.) 

I dreamt that an officer sought my cell — 

He'd a visage most frightful to see ; 
I thought that he savagely clubbed me like — well, 

He dealt pretty roughly with me. 
I dreamt well, I woke in a terrible fright, 

For a comrade just hollered my name; 
And I found I had slept in the gutter all night, 

And wasn't I glad of that same? 

I found, etc. 
(With a few extra shakes. Kepeat the two verses for chorus.) 



Original Ethiopian Oratory, 

OR ANT ODER MAN'S DOG. 

Written and originally delivered by H. "W. Egan. 

Ladies an' G-emmans: Actuating in concordance to de 
imanimouse call of de Weehawken Big Beet and Squash 
Society, I appears afore you here immediately on dis suspi- 
cious occasion ; and I shall, in propitiousness of de invita- 
tion, proceed to undress you on de subject of — of — of — any 
oder man, or any oder man's dog. 

My sweet tulips, look at de confuscated state of our in- 
ternal affairs: ain't ebery ting gittin' obtusionary, since 
Jefferson Davis sold himself to old Beelzebub, and raised 
de second-hand shirt-tail wid dat "single star" on it to de 
breezes of Skeseshiondom on de heights of Fort Slumpter, 
eh ? owl aha I Of course, dat shows at once dat de juris- 
diction of de case is due to — to — to — any oder man, or any 
oder man's dog. 

My lively sunflowers, when Eichard de Third landed at 
Newtown Creek wid de First Louisiana Ragtagan' bobtails, 



20 OR ANY ODER MAN'S DOG. 

what did he observe to Aunty Deluvian on de subject of 
injy-rubber Bolivars and gutta-percha flapjacks? Why, he 
remarked to Mary Land, dat — if 

He dat would thrive, 
Must rise at five — 

den, of course, it stood to reason an' so forth, and so on, 
dat de question should be decided by — by — any oder man, 
or — or — any oder man's dog. 

My beauteous hollyhocks, as Brigadier Gilliflower stated 
in his last report to Captain Murphy Maguire of de Forty- 
first regiment of Hoboken Blues — 

Dere is a place in childhood 

Dat I remember well; 
I used to steal de apple-sass, 

And mommy'd give me — : — 

Hell-gate is on de Yeast River, and so is any oder man- - 
or — or — any oder man's dog. 

My bloomin' turnips, dar's been a great linkumbobbery 
to-do oflate. What's de cause, eh? ow ! aha! Of course 
— why, as I heard de oder night at a polly tickle — tickle — 
meeting — de cause is — dat — dat — de — or — de reason — is 
— is — bekase it is! hence, why so, in de aftermentioned 
chapter of Jeems, does it say it's hard to buck, agin de 
brickbats? So am it hard for Wendell Phillips to — to 
marry his grandmother, or — or — or any oder man — or any 
oder man's dog! 

My dead-beets, in de conclusive case, second person, 
nomitive gender, pay out, dere she blows, etc., etc., et-set- 
her-eh — doesn't it prove dat — Lucy Stone, or — or — or any 
oder man — or any oder man's dog 1 — 



HOW TO GET UP A CONCERT, 

If you have an evening party, and are short of music, try 
Sam Sharpley's plan. G-et a pint of peanuts, eat 'em ; theti 
get another pint — eat them also. Then you have a quart 
et 



COME DOWN WID DE BRASS TACKS ! 21 

COME, DOWN WID DE BKASS TACKS! 
Ethiopian Song and Dance. 
As sung by Feank Brower. 

Ole massa was de best of men — 
A little fractious now an' den, 

But we all keep clear 

Wid de fear, 
An' we fool him bad when we can. 

Chorus. 
Ho, rod a maringo, 
Fotch on de stingo, 
Up sky high ; 
Buzzard fly high up in de dinktums ! 
High -low Jack 
Beats de pack, 
Down wid de pewter inktums! 
Ho, rod a maringo, 
Fotch. on de stingo, 
And den come down wid de brass tacks ! 

Ole massa give us holiday, 
But missus she did run away — 

She 'fraid of de noise 

Of de boys : 
You'd tink de debil was to pay. 
Ho, rod, etc. 

Apple-jack am a very good drink, 
It makes de nigger's gizzard wink ; 

If you once get enough 

Of de stuff, 
Blue ruin's very close on de brink. 
Ho, rod, etc. 



What was Eve made for? 

Why, for Adam's Express Company, 



22 *{IGGER UNDER DE WOOD-PILE. 

NIGGER UNDER DE WOOD-PILE. 

Encore Verses to " Come down wid de Brass Tacks !" 

De white folks dey do debate 
When dey' re goin' to legislate 

'Bout de price of wool 

Id de full, 
An' de money-pressure happened here of late. 
Ho, rod a maringo, etc. 

One says he knows it all de while — 
" Dar's a nigger under each wood-pile I" 

But of dis take note — 

Let him vote, 
An' he's what you call a mighty sassy chile. 
Ho, rod, etc. 

A nigger am a nigger still, 
"Whitewash him all over if you will; 

Den it's no use to try — 

Bekase why, 
To wash him white am bery diffikiT. 
Ho, rod, etc. 



WONDERFUL TRANSFORMATION. 

Sat, Stephen, does you ever indulge in de beauties of 
yallow-kivered litterature? 

Not very often, Isaac. I'se more given to de white-kiv- 
ered pail and whitewash-brush. 

Oh, you ought to read de new novels. I've just beer 
disgustin' de contents of a new one myself. 

Dijestiu', you mean. 

Yes, jestin'. Oh, but it's awful ! Dar's a fearful storj 
out just now. Dar's a young Count and a Duck in it. 

You mean a Duke. 

Yes, a Duck. Well, de Duck and de Count have a fight 



BEN BATTLE AND NELLY Glwxi'. 23 

on de edge of a precipice, and de Count frows de Duck off 
and kills him. 

Well, go on. 

Den de Duck's wife, Mrs. Duck, she hears of it; and wid 
de fright, her hair turns white in a single night! Isn't dat 
horrible ? 

No, dat ain't norm'. 

Nofin', hey! 

Why I know of a case ten times more straoge dan dat. 

What was it, Stephen? 

Why, a married lady dat I used to shake carpets for. 
Her husband died, and her grief at de misfartune was so 
great, dat it turned her hair completely black, widin a week 
after he died. See? 

Oh, yes, de case is plain enough: her husband died fust, 
and den she dyed arter. 



BEN BATTLE AND NELLY GRAY. 

A Pathetic Ballad, 

Sung by Fbank Beowkb. 

Aie — " E aging Canawl." 

Ben Battle was a soldier bold, and used to war's alarms ; 
But a cannon-ball took off his legs, so he laid down his 

arms. 
Now, as they bore him off the field, says he, " Let others. 

shoot, 
For here I leave my second leg and the Forty-second Foot." 

The army-surgeon made him limbs; says he, "They're onlj 

pegs; 
But there's as wooden members quite, as represent my legs.' 
Now Ben he loved a pretty maid — her name was Nell} 

Gray- 
So he went to pay her his devours, when he'd devoured hk 

pay! 



24 BEN BATTLE AND NELLY GRAY. 

But when he called on Nelly Gray, she made hiin quite a 
scoff, 

And when she saw his wooden legs, began to u take them 
off." 

"0 Nelly Gray, Nelly Grayl is this your love so warm? 

The love that loves a soldier's coat should be more uni- 
form.'' 1 

Said she : " I loved a soldier once, for he was blithe and 

brave, 
But I will never have a man with both legs in the grave : 
Before you had those timber toes, your love I did allow ; 
But then, you know, you stand upon another footing now." 

" Nelly Gray ! Nelly Gray ! for all your jeering 

speeches, 
At duty's call I left my legs in Palo Alto's breaches ! 
false and fickle Nelly Gray, I know why you refuse — 
Though I've no feet, some other man is standing in my 

shoes 1 

"I wish I ne'er had seen your face, but now a long fare- 
well; 

For you will be my death, alas ! you will not be my Nell" 

Now, when he went from Nelly Gray, his heart so heavy 
got, 

And life was such a burden grown, it made him take a 
knot. 

So round his melancholy neck a rope he did Q\\twine i 
And for his second time in life enlisted in the line; 
One end he tied around a beam, and then removed the pegs; 
And, as his legs were off — of course, he soon was '* off his 
legs!" 

And there he hung, till he was dead as any nail in town ; 
For though distress had "cut him up," it could not cut him 

down. 
A dozen men sat on his corpse, to find out why he died; 
A.nd they buried Ben in four cross roads, with a stake in 

his inside. 



ZOUAYE JOHNNY'S HISTORY OF HAMLET. 25 

ZOUAVE JOHNNY'S HISTORY OP HAMLET. 

Sung by H. W. Egan. 

Air— "Hi for Bob and Joan." 

A hero's life I sing — his story shall my pen mark — 
He was not the King, but Hamlet Prince of Denmark: 
His mamma was young — the crown she had her eyes on ; 
Her husband stopped her tongue, she stopped his ears with 
pison. 

Too ral oo ral oo, etc. 

When she had killed the king, she ogled much his brother; 
And having slain one spouse, she quickly got another; 
And this so soon did she, and was so great a sinner, 
The funeral-baked meats served for the wedding dinner ! 

Too ral, etc. 

Now Hamlet sweet, her son — no bully or bravado — 

Of love felt hot the flame, and so went to Bernardo. 

" Oh, sir," says one, " we've seen a sight with monstrous 

sad eye !" 
And this was nothing but the ghost of Hamlet's dad-dy. 

Too ral, etc. 

Just at that time it rose, and sighing, said: "List, Hammy ! 
I am your daddy's ghost — was pisoned by your mammy; 
And now I'm going below, all over sulpherous flame, boy : 
That I should be on fire, you'll own's a burning shame, 
boy!" 

Too ral, etc. 

Just at the time he spoke, the morn was breaking through 

dell; 
Up jumped a cock and cried, " A-cock-a-doodle-doodle!" — 
"Now I'm cock-sure of going — preserve you from all evil: 
You to your mother walk, while I'll walk to the devil!" 

Too ral, etc. # 
3 



26 ZOUAVE johnny's history of hamlet. 

Hamlet loved a maid — calumny had passed her ; 

She never had played tricks, 'cause — nobody had askeo 

her: 
Madness seized her wits, poor lord chamberlain's daughter} 
She jumped into a pond, and went to heaven by water. 
Too ral, etc. 

No matter now for that — a play they made, and shammed 

it;— 

The audience Claudius was, and he got up and damned it: 

He vowed he'd see no more — he felt a wondrous dizziness; 

And then for candles called, to make light of the business. 

Too ral, etc. 

A fencing-match had they; the Queen drinks as they try 

to: 
Says she, "0 King, I'm killed!" says Laef tes, "So am I, 

too!" 
"And so am I," cries Ham. What! can all these things 

true be? 
" Are you dead ?" says the King. " Yes, sir, and so shall 

you bel" 

Too ral, etc. 

So then he stabbed his liege, then fell on Ophy's brother, . 
And so the Danish court all tumbled one on t'other. 
To celebrate these deeds, which are from no false sham let, 
Every village small henceforth was called a Hamlet. 
Too ral, etc. 



A VERY DEAF DARKEY. 

Polite Darkey (Meeting deaf Darkey). Good-morning, 
Pete. How does you feel yourself to-day ? 

Deaf Darkey. Very stormy and disagreeable. 

Polite Darkey (Much astonished). Indeed! How is 
your wife — how is de ole woman? 

Deaf Darkey. Very windy and blusterin' I 



THE CURE. 27 

THE CUEE, 
As sung by C. E. Collins, 

No doubt you all have seen the Cure, 

But your patience I implore you ; 
You've never seen a Cure, I'm sure, 

Like the Cure that's now before you. 
My father's very proud of me, 

As we walk out, I'm sure; 
For everybody seems to say, 

"That's the progeny of the Cure !" 

Chorus. 
A Cure, a Cure — oh, dear! oh, lor! 

I'm the daughter of the Cure; 
"With my hippity-hop! my hi gee whoa I 

I'm the offspring of the Cure ! 

There's one thing I am very sure, 

"Which caused a great narration : 
My mother wasn't born a Cure — 

'Twas by inoculation! 
A dainty dish she gave to me, 

Which with patience I endure ; 
Because I had the chance, d'ye see, 

To be daughter of the Cure! 
A Cure, a Cure, etc. 



BLACK AND BLUE. 

Did you know I wasn't married, Stephen? 

Yes, sir. I heard nonn' to de derogatory side of de 
aforesaid. 

Ah, I would have been worried — I mean — subsidied in 
de bands of holy carriage — only I was too polite to de ama- 
tqgy femenine Wenus. 

Alexander, I don't understand Egyptian. Can't you say 
dat in French ? 



23 THE DARKEY BACHELOR. 

Well, I'll tole. You see, one day, walk in' out wid de 
gal, I picked up a blue flower. As I handed it to her, I 
said — 

" Dis pretty flower, of heavenly blue, 
Must surely be allied to you; 
For you, sweet wench, are heavenly too." 

She frew de flower right back, and says she — 

"If, sir, your compliment be true, 
I'm sorry dat I look so blue." 



THE DAKKEY BACHELOR. 

As sungr by H. W. Egan. 

Aie — "Yankee Doodle Dandy, on. n 

Single niggers, at deir ease, 

May persuade us, if dej r please, 
Dar's no blessin' like de joys of married life below : 

But for me, I'golly, I own 

I'm for lettin' well alone — 
An ' I'm very well indeed widout a wife, I know. 

Now abroad it am de plan 

For every married man 
To swear his wife is gentle, kind, and civil, oh! 

Dough, when they get home at night, 

Dey may quarrel, rage, and fight, 
And she may kick up like do very devil, oh ! 

Now, married darkeys, don't be nice, 

But take dis nig's advice, 
And when your wife for scoldin' finds pretences, oh, 

Take de handle of a broom, 

And just wop her round de room — 
And I'll bet a cent you'll bring her to her senses, oh I 



NEW "CUM PLUNG GUM." 29 

NEW "CUM FLUNG GUM." 
Ethiopian Song and Dance. 

I wish I was a long-tailed rat — 

I'd do just as I please; 
I'd rim about, and soon git fat, 

Wid eatiu' good old cheese. 

Chorus. 
Cum plung gum here, 
Cum plung gum dere, 
Cum plung gum over yonder; 
Oh, I feel so sassy, I'se gwine to dance, 
Cum plung gum I 

I like to see de table waited on 

By de highest kind of waiters; 
I like to see de good slapjacks, 

And de biggest kind of taters. 

Cum plung gum, etc. 

I like to see de pretty. gals, 

Wid deir pretty little footsies ; 
Deir pretty garters round de shin, 

And little gaiter bootsies. 

Cum plung gum, etc. 

I'd like to have an oyster-pie, 

About so big, or bigger ; 
I'd like — bekase I'm very dry — 

A little gin and sugar ! 

Cum plung gum, etc. 



CRY AND COLOR. 

What color does walloping a darkey change him to ? 
It makes him yell oh ! 
3* 



30 THE FOUR VULTURES. 

THE FOUR VULTURES. 

A Burlesque Quartette, 

As sung by Frank Brower, Epiie Horn, Nblse Seymour, and 
„ Charley Fox. 

(Always received with shouts of laughter.) 
SPOKEN {slowly and precisely). 

There were three crows sat on a tree, 
And they were black as black could be. 

Brothers, sing! 

QUAETETTE. 

There were three crows sat on a tree, 
And they were black as black could be. 

SPOKEN. 

One of them said unto his mate, 

" What shall we do for grub to eat ?" — 

Brothers, sing I 

QUAETETTE. 

One of them said unto his mate, 

" What shall we do for grub to eat ?" 

SPOKEN. 

There lies a horse on yonder plain, 
Whose bod-y has been late-ly slain. 

Brothers, sing I 

QUAETETTE. 

There lies a horse on yonder plain, 
Whose bod-y has been lately slain. 



Let's perch ourselves on his back-bone, 
And pick Ills eyes out, one by one ! 

Brothers, sing I 



THE FOUR VULTURES. 31 

QUARTETTE. 

Let's perch ourselves on his back-bone, 
And pick his eyes out, one by one ! 

SPOKEN. 

The devil thought to in-jure me, 
By cutting down my apple-tree. 

Brothers, sing! 

QUARTETTE. 

The devil thought to in-jure me, 
By cutting down my apple-tree. 

SPOKEN. 

He did not in-jure me at all, 
For I had apples all the fall. 

Brothers, sing! 

QUARTETTE. 

He did not in-jure me at all, 
For I had apples all the fall. 



A JOKE ON SMOKE, 

Pete, didn't I see you goin' down Laurens street dis ar- 
ternoon, wid a young lady in your mouth and a cigar on 
your arm ? 

No, Sam, 'twas de^ cigar I had in my mouth ; de young 
Wenus w r as on my arm. 

I was sustonisbed, Peter, to see you smoke ; it's de worst- 
est ting in de world — kill you, sure 1 

Nonsense ! 

It's true ; it's de worstest ting you can do — shorten your 
life, sure! 

G-o 'long! Why, dere's my fader; he smokes every day 
of his life, and he's seventy years old now. 

Well, Pete, if he hadn't smoked, he might have teen eighty I 



32 a Dutchman's opinion of things now-a-days. 

A DUTCHMAN'S OPINION OF THINGS NOW-A-DAYS. 

An Original Coiriic Song. 

By Tony Pastor. 

Air — "The Rat-catcher's Daughter." 

Now shtop a little, vhile I sings — 
Py tarn, I makes no bluuder! 

I'm going to shpeak mit you some dings- 
Mine name is Hans Yon Dander. 

I've got so gross a Deutschen frow, 
Dat her size mine it doubles ; 

Un somedimes, ven ve have a row, 
She makes mit me some droubles. 

GHORUS, POYS. 

For mit de broom she sclanch mine koop— 
Yaw, den she makes some drouble. 

I've got a son, Yacop his name — 

Mit Sigel he vas fightin' ; 
Mine daughter, Hans, she do de same, 

Un dat I tink deir right in — 
To leave de shpock un sour krout, 

Un go mit Sigel's forces ; 
For dey makes dem generals-brigadier, 

Yot rides 'pon top shack-horses. 

GHORUS, VELLERS. 

Un wans iest dans? dans iest nix — 
Dey rides 'pon top de jiorse3. 

Un now I lives shust at mine ease ; 

I dinks dat vas much besser, 
Mit sour krout un Svitzer kaese, 

Ilhein wein un Seltzer wasser. 
I goes somedimes uut pollytix, 

I dinks dem tings vas fanny; 
I sprachen Englecsh dans cest nix — 

Py dam, I makes de mouey ! 



a Dutchman's opinion of things now-a-days. 33 

ghorus, poys. 
Taw, ven I gets a fat office, 
I'll make some blenty money. 

At night I goes to shmoke mine bipe, 

Un takes a glass of liquor, 
Un blay mit cards mit Fritz Yon Schwipe— 

Fritz vas ein goot rag-picker. 
Un den ve sits un have some talk, 

Yot's all apout de nation ; 
De greenbacks, too, and den de draft, 

Pesides dat proclamation. 

GHORUS, YELLERS. 

But ve don't see vot good he be, 
Dat nigger proclamation. 

Un somedimes Fritz says mit a will, 

11 1 vish de var vas ended : 
Dat broders should each oder kill, 

It never vas intended ; 
Dat North un South, like man un frow, 

Should love each oder only — 
Un dem duyvils vot brings on de var, 

Ye make dem in Bolony 1" 

GHORUS, POYS. 

Yaw, chop 'em up in sausage-meat, 
Un make dem in Bolony I 



A LAZY WIFE. 

Pety, does you know I'se got de laziest wife you eber 
1 seed ? 

Lazy ? No, Tim, I don't believe. 
Why so? 

'Kase, de oder day I dropped in to see her, and dere sHe 
was hard at it, makin' bread. 

Dat's just it, Pete ; and what's makin' bread but loafin' ? 



34 THE HUNGRY LOVER. 

THE HUNGRY LOVER. 

A Pathetic Ballad. 

By H. W. Egan. 

Full of love, one morning fasting, 

I to Clementina flew, 
Saying, " Love must long as life be lasting, 

When de object's fair as yon — 

Ain't you got no oyster-stew ?" 

Den upon my sbinbones dropping, 

Crying, "Fair one, banish all my fears; 

And may I, here forever stopping, 
From dose fair cheeks banish tears — 
Ain't you got no sassengeers? 

" Oh," I cried, " may all good blessings 
Come to greet you in a troop 1" 

Den wid dear and fond caressiugs, 
To embrace her I did stoop — 

"Ain't you got no hot clam-soup?" 

Her loveliness, in heat dissolving, 
Wid melting softness most profuse, 

Widin my frame such warmth involving, 
I sighed to tink my game no use — 

" Ain't you got no cold roast goose ?" 

Den in de heat of love I pressed her, 

Gazed upon her sasser eye ; 
And while I in my arms caressed her, 

"Oh,!' she answered, wid a sigh, 
"All I've got is mutton-pie 1" 



SHAKSPEARE IMPROVED. 

'Tis now the very witching time of night, 
When bedbugs creep and cats on roofs do fight 



JOHNXT SUCCOTASH. 35 

JOHNNY SUCCOTASH. 

A Pathetic Ballad, 

By J. Wambold. 

Aib — "Joe Bowers." 

I'll tell a doleful ditty, and please you all I shall ; 
It's about an oyster-pedduleer — he loved a colored gal ; 
He used to live in West Broadway, among de colored 

lambs — 
He kept an oyster-wagon, and sold shad-fish, eels, and 

clams. 

' Now, the peanut-gal was wealthy — the truth I tell to 

you— 
Her father kept a policy-shop up in Fifth Avenue ; 
Her mother she sold hot corn at night, and drank hot gin 

all day; 
And her brother was cook to a colored hotel, in a garret in 

West Broadway. 

When the father he heard of the oysterman, it gave him a 

terrible shock ; 
He bought a big musket for eighteen pence, without either 

barrel or lock ; 
He loaded it up with succotash, determined to serve him a 

trick — 
He blew out his brains at the very first shot, then stabbed 

himself dead with a brick 1 

When the peanut-gal she heard the news, she very near 

busted with spleen — 
She pizoned herself, the very next day, with a gallon of 

kerosene; 
And when the mother she saw the corpse, it gave her a 

horrible fright — 
She soon cut her throat with a bolivar, and she dieded on 

that very night I 



36 HOOLAGAN MCCARTHY. 

BE MYSTERIOUS KUOOKINGS. 
A Terrible Tale. 

One solemn morn, at half-past four, 

Dere were strange rappinors at de door; 

A sense of horror undefined 

Came o'er our Tribune's lofty mind, 

And turning to his wife he said, 

"It am a message from de dead! 

Some nigger's ghost has doubtless heard 

Of some dark plot, and brought me word, 

Dat I may rouse a sleeping nation, 

Knowing my paper's circulation. 

So, in my arternoon's edition, 

I'll publish dis mysterious mission : 

De cackling of a goose, you know, 

Saved Rome two thousand years ago ; 

And I suspect, -dear Mrs. G-., 

De same proud task's reserved for me ; 

If it is so, I'll do it freely, 

As sure as my name's Horace Greeley 1" 

44 'Tis very probable," says she — 

" A greater goose dere cannot be. 

As for dat knocking at de door, 

You may resume your usual snore ; 

For it is only true, by gosh 1 — 

Black Dinah, come to help us wash 1" 



hooligan McCarthy. 

A Pathetic Ballad. 
Sung by Charley Gaednee. 

Oh, I once knew a naigur, 

They used to call him William ; 

His maiden name was Mickey, 
But they called him Ginger Blue 



HOOLAGAN M'CARTHY. 
CHORUS (ITALIAN). 

Shoon a ban arish ! 

A Hoolagan McCarthy! 
Bathersliin Nabocklish 1 

Ahool ah an a rhue 1 

He went wid the sobers, 

Dressed up so very gay : 
Now he's working on the railroad, 

For six shillings a day. 

CHORUS (FRINCH). 

Shoon a han arish ! 

A Hoolagan McCarthy! 
Bathershin Nabocklishl 

Who the diviPs you ? 

He coorted a girl, 

Her name was Flynn ; 
He used to coax his mother 

To give him tay and gin. 

CHORUS (GASMAN). 

Shoon a han arish ! 

A Hoolagan McCarthy ! 
Bathershin Nabocklisb ! 

Ahool a han a rhue! 

Sally went to Limerick, 

To buy her wife a gown ; 
She tumbled off the bridge, 

And fell in the wather, and was drownded ! 

chorus (greek). 

Shoon a han arish ! 

A Hoolagan McCarthy! 
Bathershin Nabocklishl 

Ahool a han a rhue ! 



86 STEAMED OYSTERS, Oil! 

STEAMED OYSTERS, OH! 

An Original Comic Song, 

By Geo. E. Edbson, Comedian and Vocalist. 

Aie— " White Cockade." 

A bran-new song I'm going to sing, 
To please you all it's just the thing; 
The subject you must like, I know, 
For I sing about steamed oysters, oh ! 
For this here is the fact, T know — 
At least the big demand will show — - 
That when to have a meal you go, 
The cry is all, "Steamed oysters, oh!" 

A young man goes to court a maid, 

To pop the question he's afraid : 

He finds he gets on rather slow, 

Till he treats her to steamed oysters, oh! 

And that he's right, I soon will show: 

Though she at first may answer, " No," 

Away at once all scruples go, 

When he treats her to steamed oysters, oh 1 

A man is after a nice contract, 

He wants a member for to act — 

To take the job up he is slow, 

Till he asks him to take steamed oysters, oh! 

They go and have a peck or so ; 

To a little bribe he can't say, "No;" 

And very soon the job's a go, 

Through laying in steamed oysters, oh ! 

A man and his wife have a little row 
She says, "You brute, I'll leave you now!" 
He says, "My love, you won't do so — 
Let us have a few steamed oysters, oh !" 
And then they into the oysters go — 
The result is. a kiss instead of a blow ; 



STEAMED OYSTERS, OH I 

They've a way to settle it then, you know, 
After eating their steamed oysters, oh I 

The President, when an audience ends, 

Instanter for the cook he sends; 

And forth an order then does go, 

For a bushel of steamed oysters, oh ! 

The way he gulps them isn't slow— 
They brighten up his wits, you know; 
Affairs of state are settled so, 
While eating his steamed oysters, oh ! 

Now, there's one thing that I can prove: 
For those that's wed, or those in love, 
For those hard up, with spirits low, 
There's nothing like steamed oysters, oh ! 
Now, to the war we'd strike a blow, 
And soon win back the rebel foe, 
If u on to Richmond" we would go, 
With a bushel of large steamed oysters, oh! 



ALTOGETHER TOO CLEAN. 

Pety, did you ever go fishin' in Gooseneck Creek ? Wag 
you ever down dat way? 

Oh, yes, I lived down dere for two years. 

No ! — was you, dough ? G-racious 1 who did you live 
wid? 

Ole Mrs. Sniffledorf. Urn! what a nice woman she was! 

Yes, indeedy, and what a clean ole woman ! 

Well, dat was her business, John. Why, 'fore she was 
married, dat's what she used to do for a livin' — take in 
houses to clean, and windows to wash. 

Oh, she was a clean ole woman. 

Yes, John, dat's what killed her. 

Why, Pety, how was dat ? I tought she died .of de rheu- 
matiz. * 

No, she died of a Saturday. She was cleanin' up de 
house as usual, and she was in de parlor scrnbuui' de iioor. 



40 THE BOAT-BACE. 

Well, John, I declar to sixpence, she scrubbed de floor so 
hard, dat at last she rubbed clean frough it I She fell in 
de cellar, and dissoluted her neck. 



THE BOAT-EACE. 

Original Ethiopian Song. 
By H. W. Egan. 
Aie — " Jamboree." 

I'm goin' to tell you of a race — 
You'll find it somethin' new — 

'Tween de rebel scow and Union boat, 
Wid a bully Yankee crew. 

Chorus. 
Je-ru-sa-lem — 
Je-ru-sa-lem ! 
De Union am a bully boat, 
And bound to go it through! 

De scow was launched at Charleston, 

De captain's name was Jeff, 
One Beauregard de steward, 

And de mate was Floyd de thief! 
Je-ru-sa-lem, etc. 

De boat was built in 'Seventy-six, 
And launched at Bunker Hill: 

De builder's name was Washington, 
D'; world owns his skill. 

Je-ru-sa-lem, etc. 

De scow at first shot out ahead — 

Dey hois'ed de rebel rag ; 
But Abe Lincum jumped aboard de boat, 

And raised de Union flag ! 

Je-ru-sa-lem, etc. 



THE BOAT-RACE. 41 

General Scott he was de captain, 

Wid de nation at his back; 
And de only man to take de wheel 

Was gallant "Little Mac." 

Je-ru-sa-lem, etc. 

Soon de rebel scow was left behind, 

And all deir courage fled ; 
For while little Mac was kept aboard, 

De "Union" went ahead. 

Je-ru-sa-lem, etc. 

But de politicians jumped aboard, 

And nearly swamped de boat; 
Now, de only way to save it 

Is to set dem all afloat. 

Je-ru-sa-lem, etc. 

Now, de scow is up Salt River, 

Steerin' fast for dat "last ditch" — 
And soon 'twill go to pieces, 

Wid each rebel son of a — traitor ! 
Je-ru-sa-lem, etc 



SOME HOESE. 

I say, Ebenezer, did you see dat hoss I used to have 
previously to de time I got dis one ? 

Does you mean de clothes-hoss ? 

No, de oder hoss — de one I sold de sassenger-man. Ah, 
Ebenezer, I got sucked in on dat hoss. 

How was dat, Sam-u-el? 

Well, when I bought him, de man told me he had only 
two faults. 

What, de man? 

No, de hoss. 

What was dey ? 

Well, de fust one was, dat when he was let loose in de 
field, he was awful hard to catch. 
4* 



il OLD DADDY HOPKLNS. 

Well, dat's putty bad; but I suppose de oder fault 
wasn't so much. 

Oh, no; de oder fault was nofin'. 

"What was de oder? 

Why, de boss wasn't worf nofin' when he was cotched! 



OLD DADDY HOPKINS. 

A Pathetic Lay. 

Old Daddy Hopkins had three sons, 
As big rogues as ever did swing ; 

And he kicked them all three out of doors, 
Because they could not sing. 

CHO-ROUSE. 

Old Daddy Hopkins, oh ! 

The first he was a miller, 

The second he was a weaver, 
And the third he was a little tailor, 

They thought him wondrous clever. 

CHO-ROUSE. 

Old Daddy Hopkins, oh! 

The miller he stole corn, 

The weaver he stole yarn, 
And the little tailor he stole broadcloth 

To keep these three rogues warm. 

CHO-ROUSE. 

Old Daddy Hopkins, oh ! 

The miller was drowned in his dam ; 

The weaver was hanged with his yarn; 
And the devil flew away with the little tailor, 

With the broadcloth under his arm ! 

CHO-ROUSE. 

Old Daddy Hopkins, oh ! 



BURLESQUE ORATIOX ON MATRIMONY. 43 

BURLESQUE ORATION ON MATRIMONY. 
As delivered by H. W. Egan, in the character of Aunty Chloey. 

Human Critters, Hemale Humbugs, an' Female Wic- 
tims: Straighten up, and listen to ole Aunty Chloey, while 
she splanifies de question of matrimony. 

Matrimony am a humbug, husbands am tyrants, love am 
a sham, an' domestic bliss am a dam suck-in! 

In de fust place, dar's de honey-moon, or in some cases 
de winegar-moon, dat passes away like de contents of a 
clam-chowder pot afore a parcel of hungry niggers. Den, 
aha! — den, den you may wear your wedding-dress at de 
wash-tub, and your seventeen-penny calico on Sundays, 
and your lord an' master won't know it. You may pick 
up your own pocket-hankerrltch, and rip your dress up de 
back, stretching across de table for anoder flapjack, an' he 
don't boder to help you! eh? ah? How's dat? 

And all de time he is layin' his breakfast in just as if it 
was de last meal he was a-gwine to eat on dis side of de 
Kingdom Comin'. Den he gets up from de table, lights 
his cigar wid de last evening's paper afore you've had a 
chance to read it — gives free or four whirls at it, just enurT 
to set your head achin' all day — eh ? ah ? how is dat ? 

Den, jist as he's goin' out, you ax him if he won't do a 
little errand for you. What does he say — eh ? ah ? Why, 
he tells you dat he's very sorry he can't oblige you, but 
he's so pressed wid business. Dat's de 'scuse. You needn't 
grin at me, you he-crocodiles! you know it's de trufe — eh? 
ah ? how is dat ? 

But s'pose you was to see him at about 'leven o'clock, 
takin' ice-cream wid a young lady in Taylor's, while de 
misfortunate wife is at home, puttin' new linin's to his coat- 
sleeves, or sewin' buttons on his what-you-rnay-call-'ems — 
eh? ah? how is dat? 

Den, when he comes home at night, he'll just walk in, 
pull off his obercoat, and say, ''How de do, Sally?" or 
somefin' just as cool — blow up de chillura — may-be wallup 
dem — an' down he'll sit in front of de stove, pull de news- 



44 BURLESQUE ORATION ON MATRIMONY. 

paper out of his pocket, and read it all to hisself. He eats 
his supper, and down he lies on de sophia, and snores away 
till nine o'clock. Den he gets up, and says he'll take a 
walk for half an hour — mind you, de sarpint don't ax his 
poor wife to come along — away he goes, and you doesn't 
see him agin till two o'clock in de mornin' — eh ? ah ? how 
is dat? 

Nex' mornin' you ax him to let you have a little money. 
"What's de consequence? Why, he heaves a sigh like a 
kipoodle pup dyin' wid de toofache, an' axes you won't fifty 
cents do, as money is very scarce jist now; jist as if you was 
gwine to get shoes, stockings, pettiskirts, flannens, an' free- 
cornered hankerfUches for de young ones, for half a dollar 1 
Dam nonsense — eh ? ah ? how is dat ? 

Gals, wenches, and oder shemales, take my advice : set 
your affections on cats, dogs, parrots, ginny-goats, bull- 
frogs, or canary-birds — but let matrimony alone. It's a 
swindle, a humbug, a suck-in ; in de gumphatic langwidge 
of Mrs. Greeley, it's a dead beat. Tink of it — carryin' eight 
or ten or fourteen or twenty-one chillum frough de meazles, 
and de mumps, and de hoopin' cough, and de rash, and de 
itch an' scratch-gravel, and all de oder complaints, some of 
'em free or four times over! golly, it's enough to set dis ole 
wench crazy to tink along about it — eh? ah ? how is dat? 

Den you may squeeze an' save, and twist an' turn, and 
dig an' delve, and den you die ! Den, of course, your hus- 
band goes and gits married agin, and takes what you have 
saved to dress his second wife wid ; and she'll take your 
likeness to make a fireboard — eh? ah? how is dat? 

But what's de use of wastin' my precious breff wid all 
my talkin' ? All you gals will go an' try it, de very fust 
chance you get. Dar's a sort of hyferlutin' about de lov- 
yers you can't resist, let ole Aunty Chloey spoke as she 
will. I do believe one-half o' de world am idiots, and de 
oder half fools — eh? ah? how is dat? 



"Why are persons with short memories like officeholders? 
Because they are always for-getting every thing. 



UP AGAIX AND KISS ME QUICK. 45 

UP AGAIff AND KISS ME QUIOK. 
A Plantation Song and Dance. 

Now listen, fair ladies of this here town, 

To a few words that I've got to say: 
Never build your affections on any young man, 

For fear that he might run away; 
And then you'd feel like a big sunflower, 

Born in the merry month of Spring, 
When the birds begin to sing — oh, you'd begin to say, 
"Oh, rip tare, my Johnny's gone away!" 

Choriis—Oh, thick lip, crooked stick, 

Up again and kiss me quick — 
Oh, rip tare, my Johnny's gone away. 

Oh, King Philip's darter was a very nice gal, 

And she always kept her eyes skinned about her; 

For she said that young men had a very loving way — 
That they'd win you, and then they would scout you ; 

And then they would all on you look, 
From a roguish or glimmer looking eye ; 

And then they'd begin to sing — oh, you'd begin to say, 

"Oh, rip tare, my Johnny's gone away!" 

Oh, thick lip, etc. 

Oh, listen, fair ladies of Bloomer-hat creation, 

To a few more words I've got to say: 
That's, be a little careful how you chuck yourself around, 

Or you might accidently chuck yourself away; 
And then you'd go clean up in the sky, 

Just like a mighty big balloon; 
You'd arrive in California by the gaslight of the moon, 
And a rip tare, you'd meet your Johnny there! 
Oh, thick lip, etc. 



What is the most like a hen stealing ? 
A cock robin. 



46 DB OLE PLANTATION. 

DE OLE PLANTATION. 

Sung by H. W. Egan. 

Air — "Jim Crow. 11 

I came from ole Kentucky, not very long ago, 
'Twas dere ole massa learned me to jump J>m Crow. 

Chorus. 
Upon de ole plantation, not very long ago, 
Ole massa took Secession in, and jumped Jim Crow. 

I used to take my fiddle every morn an* arternoon, 
And charm all de buzzards, like a big raccoon. 

Upon de ole plantation, etc. 

In hoein T of de corn, or pickin' cotton, all de same, 
I used to beat de oder nigs, an' give 'em twenty on de 
game. 

Upon de ole plantation, etc. 

At last I went to seek my fortune — got up at broke of day 
I left my ole shoes behind, and den I ran away. 

Upon de ole plantation, etc. 

Ole massa started arter me, but I kept runnin' on, 
Until I crossed de Linkum lines, an' got to Washington. 
Upon de ole plantation, etc. 

Now my luck is rader hard, I isn't got no tin ; 
Bat I'll go to Massa Greeley, and he's bound to take me in. 
Upon de ole plantation, etc. 



Why is a watch-dog longer at night dan he is in de 
mornm' ? 

Because he is "let out" in de night, and "taken in" in 
de mornin\ 

Why are good resolutions like fainting ladies ? 

Because they want carrying out. 



FRANK BROWER'S NEW MEDLEY. 47 

PRANK BROWER'S NEW MEDLEY, 
As sung by him with great applause. 
Am — " When this Cruel War is over." 

Dearest love, do you remember, 

When we last did meet, 
How you told me that you loved me, 

Kneeling at my feet ? 
Oh, how proud you stood before me, 

In— 

Air — " Lanigan's Ball." 

-town of Athlone lived one Jerry Lanigan. 
Batthered away till he hadn't a pound 
His father he died, and made him — 

Are— " Wait for the Wagon." 
"Wait for the wagon, 
"Wait for the wagon, 
Wait for the wagon, 

And we'll all take — 

Aie — " A Life on the Ocean Wave." 
A seat by de galley-fire, 

When de coppers am boilin 1 wild — 
Who wouldn't dis life desire? 

It zackly suits — 

Air—" Simon the Cellarer." 
Old Simon the cellarer keeps a rare store 

Of Malmsey, and Malvoisie, 
And Cyprus, and who can say — 

Am — " Gideon's Band." 
Oh, keep your hat upon your head — 
Oh, keep your hat upon your head — 



48 FRANK BROWER'S NEW MEDLEY. 

Oh, keep your hat upon your head, 
For you will want it when you are — 

Air — "No one to love." 
Roaming alone through this world's wilderness, 
Sad is my heart, joy is unknown, 
• For in my sorrow — 

Air — " Irish Emigrant's Farewell." 
I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, 

Where we sat side by side. 
On a bright May morning, long ago, 

When first — 

Air — " Low-backed Car." 
— I saw sweet Peggy, 
'Twas on a market-day ; 
In a low-back car she drove, 
And sat upon — 

Air — "John Brown's Song." 
John Brown's body is a mouldering in the grave, 
John Brown's body is — 

Air — " Eock me to sleep, Mother." 
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace, 
With your eye-lashes just sweeping my face. 
Never hereafter to wake or to weep, 
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me — 

Air— "To the West." 
To the West, to the West, 

Where the big bears prowl, 
Where the snakes are enormous, 

And panthers do growl; 
Where — 



FRANK BROKER'S NEW MEDLEY. 49 

Air — " Goose hangs high." 
Every thing is lovely, and the goose hangs high — 

Ate — " Hail Columbia." 
High in air our banner waves, 
Floats triumphant o'er our braves, 

Who fought for Union and the laws; 
Liberty is still — 

Air—" Girl I left behind me." 
Dans is true, I shpeaks mit you, 
I'm going to fight mit Sigel — 

Aie — " Uncle Snow." 
My name is Uncle Snow, and I'd have you all to know 

I'm an artist wid de brush by profession; 
At de risin' of de sun — 



Ana — " Cum plung Gum." 
I like to see de wavin' grass, 
Before de mower mows it ; 
I like to see — 



Air — " Star-spangled Banner." 
De star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave, 
O'er de land of de free and de home of — 



Air — "Whack row de dow." 
The Union must and will be saved, 

Of that there is no doubt ; 
Then South and North we must go forth, 

And drive the traitors outl 
Let us combine — ourselves confine 

Unto this reaction : 



60 THE DARKEY'S RACE. 

We swear to-day all must obey 
The laws and constitution ! 

With a whack row de dow, 
A hunkey flag's our starry banner ; 

Whack row de dow, 
That flag we're bound to save ! 



THE DARKEY'S RACE. 
A Comic Ballad. 
By Bob Hart. 
Am—" The Gray Maro." 
I'm going for to sing you a comical song, 
It ain't very short and it ain't very long; 
It's about two fine men on a midsummer's day— . 
They were running a race on the top of the say. 

CHORUS, BOYS. 

The top of the say ! 

Now Hackley the judge says, " The fellow that beats, 
I'll give him the contract for cleaning the streets; 
The slush and the mud he can let it all lay — 
The only trouble he'll have is in getting his pay. i 

CHORUS, BOYS. 

In getting his pay! 

Oh, they ran and they ran for to keep up the race, 
Till one tripped a bird's-nest and fell on his face ; 
Then he cried to the other, as he lay on his back, 
"If you come back, McGinniss, I'll treat to black-jack! 

CHORUS, BOYS. 

I'll treat to black-jack ! 

Then a great big mud-turtle he stretched out his hand, 
And, presenting a pistol, desired him to stand ; 
Then an oyster-shell threw, and he aimed it so fine, 
That — the rest I will sing you at some other time ! 

CHORUS, BOYS. 

Git up and git! 



BULLY BOY'S THE BUTTERFLY. 51 

BULLY BOY'S THE BUTTERFLY. 

A Sentimental Lay, 

As sung by H. W. Eqan - . 

Air— "I'd be a Butterfly." 

I'd be a butterfly, born in a bower ; 

Oh, what a gay butterfly I would make, 
Roving forever from flower to flower, 

Living on honey instead of beefsteak ! 
I'd never languish for wealth or for power, 

I'd never sigh to have clogs on my feet ; 
I'd be a butterfly, born in a bower, 

And there nary nigger should ask me to treat. 

Chorus. 



I'll be a butterfly, 
As fast as I can ; 

Yes, I'll be a butterfly — 
Or any other man! 



Oh, could I pilfer the wand of a fairy, 

I'd have a large pair of patent-leather wings; 
To go without breeches is lightsome and airy — 

Butterflies don't bother themselves with such things; 
Those who have wealth must be watchful and wary — 

Some to have fishballs can never afford: 
I'd be a butterfly, sportive and airy, 

Living like a sporter, and paying no board. 

I'll be a butterfly, 
Handsome and nice ; 

Tes, I'll be a butterfly — 
It's a big thing on ice I 

What though you tell me each gay little rover 

Never of gin-and-molasses may taste ? 
Surely 'tis better when credit is over, 

Than see with some niggers, their cash going to waste. 



2 MARRIAGE BLISS. — A DARKET'S EPITAPH. 

What though it's true that the darkey piccaninnies 
Chase them around till their wings begin to droop ? 

There's only one thing, that I know of, agin it — 
That is, the butterflies get no clam-soup I 

I'll be a butterfly, 

And roam the flowers through: 
No — upon second thoughts, 

I'll be dam if I do! 



MAKEIAGE BLISS. 

Oh, dere's not in de wide world 

A happier life 
Dan to sit near de stovepipe 

And tickle your wife — 
Taste de sweets of her lips 

In de moments of glee, 
And twist de cat's tail 

When she jumps on your knee 1 

GENERAL CHORUS. 

Twist de cat's tail, and so on. 



A DARKEY'S EPITAPH. 

Here beneaf dis stone dere lies, 
Waitin' a summons to de skies, 

De body of Isaac Jeuking : 
He was a good old colored man — 
His fault was, dat he took and ran 
Suddenly to drinkin'. 
Now all you darkeys dat dis way passes, 
Be warned — give up your gin-and- 'lasses ! 



Why is a dog like a tattling person ? 
Because he is a tail-bearer. 



A TOUGH BOARDING-HOUSE. 53 



A TOUGH BOAKDING-HOUSE, 

So, Pety, you've left your last situation ? 

Yes, Sam, I couldn't get along dere at all. I am at de 
St. Michael's Hotel. 

De St. Michael's? I guess you mean de St. Nicholas. 

Yes, de St. Nicholas. Oh, dat last place was a awful 
place, now I tole you. 

How was dat, Pety? "Why, you tole me it was a fust- 
rate place; dat you had fowl for dinner every day, and 
coffee and short-cakes for breakfast, and preserved fish for 
supper. I understood it was a capital place. 

Oh, yes, de place was capital enuff; but de grub, Sam — 
de grub, as Spakesheak say in his snublime tradegy of In- 
gomar de Fust, or de Merchant of Denmark — 

Wot grub is, if dow wouldst be taught, 

Dy stomach must teach alone ; 
Two pig's feet stewin' in one pot, 
• Two fishballs widout a bonel 

Isn't dat lovely, Sam? 

"What, de fishballs? 

No, de poetry. 

Well, but what about de grub ? 

We used to have short-cakes and coffee ebery morain\ 

Dat must be nice. Short-cakes are delicious. 

Yes — but de cook we had, had a fashion of puttin' de 
shortenin' in lengthways ; and, Sam, de cakes was so tough, 
you could use dem for iron platin'. 

But de coffee ? 

Rye-coffee. 

How did dat go ? 

We used to all make wry faces at dat. 

Well, but dinner, Pety — de fowl ? — dat must have made 
up for de breakfast. 

Yes, de fowl was high ole fowl, I tole you. Why, Sam, 
de last fowl we had was a rooster ; and, Sam, he was so 
old, dat he was bald-headed. De cook had to use a claw- 
hammer to get de feaders out of him: and dat feller hung 
5* 



54 A TOUGH BOARDING-HOUSE. 

on to his life so, dat after he was biled for two hours and 
twenty-five seconds he was crowin' still! 

Well, dat must have been a gay old fowl. 

Does you know, I tink dat was a scriptural rooster, Sam ? 
I've read of him, in de Bible. 

Go 'long! how can dat be? — wharabouts? 

Why, Sam, it must a bin de dientical rooster dat crowed 
for St. Peter. — 'Pom my goodness, what nice eatin' dey 
make wid trimmin'sl 

What kind of trimmin's, Pety? 

A few leader pickles, gutta-percha potaters, an' aqua- 
fortis sass. 

Well, but you tole me you had preserved fish for supper. 
What kind was it? 

Dried herrin's — cent apiece. 

I suppose it was on dat account you left de place. 

No, dey discharged me. 

What for? 

Well, you know, I used to do de chores, and black de 
gemmans' boots an' tings. Well, somehow or oder, tings 
neber went right wid me; it always seemed as if de debil 
was 'round de house doin' mischief, to get me blamed for 
it. De last mornin' I was dere, dere was only two gem- 
man in de house. Well, Sam, I cleaned deir boots, an' left 
dem at deir doors. Bymeby, I heard a awful ringin' at de 
bell — oh, a awful ringin' — 

Dat was strange! What caused it? 

Why, somebody pullin' de handle — don't you see? I 
run up-stairs, and dere was one of de gemman a-cussin' an* 
a-swearin'. He said one of his boots was bigger dan de 
oder. I tole him dat wasn't my fault; if de debil was in 
de house, I* couldn't help it. Oh, but dere was a awful 
time. 

Some mistake, I suppose. 

No, dere wasn't no mistake, Sam; 'kase, a little while 
arter, de oder gemman rung his bell like de debil: and den, 
Sam, de strangest ting in de world. 

What was it, Pety — what was it? 

Why, de oder gemman said his boots were odd too ! 



THE LONE FISHBALL. 55 

THE LONE FISHBALL. 

As sung by Frank Browkr. 

There was a man went up and down, 
To seek a dinner through the town. 

Chorus. 
There was a man, etc. 

What wretch is he who wife forsakes, 
Who best of jam and waffles makes! 
What wretch is he, etc. 

He feels his cash, to know his pence, 
And finds he has but just six cents. 
He feels his cash, etc. 

He finds at last a right cheap place, 
And enters in with modest face. 
He finds at last, etc. 

The bill of fare he searches through, 
To see what his six cents will do. 
The bill of fare, etc. 

The cheapest viand of them all 
Ts "Twelve and a half cents for two fishbalL'* 
The cheapest viand, etc. 

The waiter he to him doth call, 
And gently whispers, " One fishball." 
The waiter he, etc. 

' The waiter roars it through the hall ; 
The guests they start at s< One fishbalL" 
The waiter roars, etc. 

The guest then says, quite ill at ease, 
" A piece of bread, sir, if you please." 
The guest then says, etc. 



56 she's black, but that's no matter. 

The waiter roars it through the hall, 
"We don't give bread with one nshball!" 
The waiter, etc. 

MORAL. 

Who would have bread with his nshball, 
Must get it first, or not at all. 

Who would have, etc.. 

Who would fishballs w'lihjixins eat, 
Must get some friend to stand a treat. 
Who would, etc. 



SHE'S BLACK, BUT THAT'S NO MATTER. 

My Dinah dear, she's as beautiful quite 
As a star that shines calmly at the close of the night; 
A voice like a siren, a foot like a fay— 
"She's just such a gal you don't meet every day 1" 
(Spoken.) — But she's black I 
Chorus — I know she is, but what of that? 
You'd love, could you look at her; 
I'd have her just the way she is — 
She's black, but that's no matter. 

She lives on the banks of a bright-flowing stream, 
In a cabin that might have been built in a dream, 
Surrounded by roses, and woodbines, and leaves, 
" That twine and climb up to the eaves." 

(Spoken,) — But she's so very black ! 
I know she is, etc. 

If ever I marry this dark-colored maid, 
You'll believe in the truth of what I have said ; 
I love her because her complexion will keep, 
" And they say that all beauty is only skin-deep." 
(Spoken.) — But she's black 1 
I know she is, etc. 



VHJKINS AND HIS DINAH. 5* 

VILIKINS AND HIS DINAH. 
As sung by Frank Broweb. 

'There was a rich merchant, in this city did dwell, 
He had but one daughter, a very nice gal; 
Her name it was Dinah, scarce sixteen years old, 
With a very large fortune of silver and gold. 

Chorus. 

Singing, Ritooral, lilooral, litoorallalla : 
Ritooral, lilooral, litoorallalla; 
Litoorlal, lalloorlal, lalloollalla ; 
Ritoolal, liloolal, lalloollalla 1 

As Dinah was a- walking the garden one day, 
1 The papa corned up to her, and thus he did say: 
I f Go dress yourself, Dinah, in gorgeous array, 

'And I'll bring you a husband both gallant and gay." 
Singing, Tu-ra-li, etc. 

' "0 father, dear papa, I've not made up my mind; 

To marry jest yet I don't feel inclined; 
( » And all my large fortin' I'll gladly give o'er, 

If you'll let me live singuel a year or two more." 
Singing, Tu-ra-li, etc. 

As Vilikins was a-waliking the garding all round, 
He spied his dear Dinah laying dead on the ground! — 
A bottle of cold poison lay down by her side, 
-And a billet-dux, which said — 'twas by poison she died. 
Singing, Tu-ra-li, etc 

1 Then he kissed her cold corpus a thousand times o'er, 
| And'called her his Dinah, though she was no more; 
Then he swallowed the bottle, and sung a short stave — 
And Yilikius and his Dinah were laid in one grave I 
Singing, Tu-ra-li, etc. 

At twelve the next night, by a tall popular tree, 
/ Miss Dinah's grim ghost the parient did see, 



58 YILIKINS AND HIS DINAH 

Arm-and-arm with her Yilikins ; and both, looking bine, 
Said, "We shouldn't have been poisoned if it hadn't been 
for you I" 

Singing, Tu-ra-li, etc. 

MORAL. 

Now the moral is this — number one is not reckoned — 
So this is the first moral, though it comes second : 
You may learn from my song, which is true every word, * 
All this wouldn't have happened if it hadn't have occurred. 
Singing, Tu-ra-li, etc. 



MODEL RHYMES. J 

Ebenezer bet Hezekiah a bottle of rain-water, and a 

jack-knife widout a handle (and de blade was lost), dat he 
could give him two words he couldn't get rhymes for. De . 
words were Sennacherib and Jehosaphat. De bet was 
won by Hez. Dese am de werses: 

Dere was a monarch called Sennacherib, 

Who swore like de debil dat he could crack a rib 

Of any man except Jehosaphat — 1 

He couldn't break his bekase he was so fat. 



THE END OF THE WORLD. 

Sam, whar's you gwine to go to next summer, Slamanto- 
gaw or Nigh-a-garriaw ? * 

Well. Eben, I hasn't much idea of gwine anywhere. It's 
my 'pinion dat dere isn't gwine to be any next summer. 

Why, Sam, what does you mean? 

Well, I tink dat you'll find out. Eben, Eben, de end of 
de world is comin' I ' 

Why — why — why — what makes you tink dat? 

Well, you know dem checkerboard pants of mine ? Well, 
de tailor tole me dey'd never wear out; and dere's a big 
hole in 'em already 1 *, 



"WHAT A RIDICULOUS FASHION! 59 

WHAT A RIDICULOUS FASHION! 
Air — " King of the Cannibal Islands." 

Now crinoline is all the rage 
With ladies of whatever age — 
A petticoat made like a cage, 

Oh, what a ridiculous fashion! 
'Tis framed with hoops and bars of steel, 
Or tubes of air, which lighter feel, 
And worn by girls to be genteel; 
Or if they've figures to conceal, 
It makes their dresses stick far out, 
A dozen yards, at least, about, 
And pleases both the thin and stout — 
Oh, what a ridiculous fashion ! 
Chorus. 
Balking walking all the day, 
Always getting in the way; 
All, except the ladies, say, 

" Oh, what a ridiculous fashion 1" 

One female takes up half the street, 

And can't sit clear in any seat; 

You walk half round each girl you meet — 

Oh, w r hat a ridiculous fashion! 
Or in her dress you hitch your stick, 
And tear it if you're walking quick; 
Of crinoline all men are sick, 
It forces them their way to pick. 
A carriage with a lady's clothes, 
If she rides in it, overflows, 
And people shout where'er she goes, 

"Oh, what a ridiculous fashion!" 

Balking walking, etc. 

In church, the very widest pew 
Will hold of ladies but a few, 
Its door their skirts protruding through — 
Ob, what a ridiculous fashion ! 



60 WHAT A RIDICULOUS FASHION! 

And when they go to routs and balls, 
They fill chock full the largest halls, 
And squeeze the men against the walls; 
A man might wish his wife wore smalls! 
An omnibus they occupy, 
So that your knees are covered by 
Their muslin, while you softly cry, 
"Oh, what a ridiculous fashion !" 
Balking walking, etc. 

There's not a door that's wide enough 
For girls to pass with all their stuff, 
Without a squeeze and struggle tough — 

Oh, what a ridiculous fashion ! 
The posts their spreading dresses scratch, 
The bushes scrape, the brambles catch, 
And, what is worse, the Congreve match'. 
They interfere with all dispatch : 
'Tis tiresome quite to see how slow, 
With held-up skirts, the ladies go, 
Their ankles, it would seem, to show — 

Oh, what a ridiculous fashion 1 

Balking walking, etc. 

There was a time when every lass 

Just wore a " bustle" — which might pass — 

But now 'tis one enormous mass — 

Oh, what a ridiculous fashion ! 
Before as bulky as behind, 
By moderation unconfined, 
To suit the whim of womankind ; 
But crinoline is more than such, 
It really is a deal too much, 
And makes the contour worse than Dutch — 

Oh, what a ridiculous fashion ! 

Balking walking, etc. 

How long will Yankee ladies troop 
About, encircled by a coop 
Composed of air-tube, bar, and hoop? 
Oh, what a ridiculous fashion I 



WHY DO I WEEP FOR THEE? 61 

The more you scoff, the more you jeer, 
The more the women persevere 
la wearing this apparel queer, 
Which is in cost extremely dear, 
So much material it requires, 
Which every husband's patience tires ; 
The fashion not one man admires — 
Oh, what a ridiculous fashion I 

Balking walking, etc. 



WHY DO I WEEP FOR THEE? 

Why do I weep for thee — 

Weep in my sad dreams ? 
Parted for aye are we — 

Yes, parted like mountain-streams. 
Tet with me lingers still 

That word, that one last word; 
Thy voice, thy voice yet seems to thrill 

My heart's fond chord. 

Chorus. 
Why do I weep for thee ? 
Parted for aye are we — 

Yes, parted like the mountain-streams : 
Yes, parted ! why do I weep for thee ? 
Oh, why do I weep for thee ? 

Once, ah ! what joy to me to share 

With thee the noontide hour I 
Then not a grief nor care 

Had cankered the heart's young flower. 
The sun seems not to shed 

A radiance o'er me now; 
Save memory, all seems dead, 

Since lost, since lost art thou ! 

Why do I weep, etc 



62 PADDY AND THE DEVIL. 

PADDY AND THE DEVIL. 

An Irish Song, 
Air — " Paddy was a darling Boy." 

Oh, listen to me awhile — 

For now being in my glory, 
I warrant I'll make you smile, 

By telling a comical story. 
It isn't myself would talk, 

Nor wid boasters be on a level — 
But once, in the kingdom of Cork, 

Most fairly I cheated the devil. 

Chorus 
Och ! Barney O'Brallaghan ! 

Cunning, blarneying Barney! 
Och! och! och! 

A match for the devil was he! 

'Twas horses I used to steal — 

And whenever I got into trouble, 
Ould Nick for my case would feel, 

And soon get me out of each hobble ; 
And when I was ill supplied 

Wid money, most kiudly he'd riz it — 
For a promise that, when I died, 

I'd go down below on a visit! 

Ochl Barney, etc. 

Soon I got rich, you must know, 

And then I began for to ponder 
On how down the ladder to throw, 

Which had helped me so high up to wander. 
So when to my door he'd come, 

That I of his visits might free me, 
I sent word I wasn't at home, 

Though he through the window might see me I 
Ochl Barney, etc. 



PADDY AND THE DEVIL. 63 

Sometime after this, walking out — 

For my spirits much needed recruiting — 
To search all the meadows about, 

Fur any wild ducks to be shooting, 
I heard some one give me a hail — 

And that was the divil I vow, sirs: 
I knew him bekase of the tail 

That came through a hole in the trousers! 
Och! Barney, etc. 

"What Barney, my boy!" says he, 

And his hand to shake he was giving — 
"It gives me much pleasure to see 

You're still in the land of the living!" 
He then took my gun in his gripe, 

And says, "Pray, what's this?" like a whackey. 
" Arrah, hone.yl" says I, "that's my pipe, 

That I use for the smoking of 'backey." 
Ochl Barney, etc. 

Says he: "It's smoke rarely I do, 

Unless I have plenty of guzzle; 
But I'll just take a small whiff or two" — 

So he then put his mouth to the muzzle ! 
Then wishing to cheat Master Nick, 

And our friendship forever to mull it, 
The trigger he fired off quick, 

And the powder went clean down his gullet ! 
Ochl Barney, etc. 

Ere he took the pipe from his jaws, 

Not even a moment he wasted ; 
Says he, " The pipe nicely draws, 

But the 'backey's the strongest I've tasted!" 
In a huff he then scampered away, 

For that trick most sorely incensed him; 
And from that time to this very day, 

He's never let me come against him. 
Och! Barney, etc. 



64 VIVA L' AMERICA! 

VIVA L'AMERICA! 
(By permission of the publishers, Firth, Pond & Co.) 

Noble republic ! happiest of lands, 
Foremost of nations, Columbia stands ! 
Freedom's proud banner floats in the skies, 
Where shouts of liberty daily arise — 
"United we stand, divided we fall;" 
"Union forever I" — "Freedom to all!" 

Chorus. 
Throughout the world our motto shall be— 
"Viva l'America! home of the freel" 

Should ever traitor rise in the land, 
Cursed be his homestead, withered his handl 
Shame be his memory; scorn be his lot; 
Exile his heritage, his name a blot! 
"United we stand, divided we fall," 
Granting a home and freedom to all. 

Throughout the world, etc. 

To all her heroes justice and fame; 

To all her foes a traitor's foul name! 

Our "stars and stripes" still proudly shall wave, 

Emblem of liberty, Hag of the brave! 

"United we stand, divided we fall;" 

Gladly we'll die at our country's call. 

Throughout the world, etc. 



A MODEST REQUEST. 

Good-morntn'. Mr. Williamson. I come over to see if 
you'd lend de ole man your pickaxe, to saw off a board to 
make a chicken-coop to put our dog in : he runs arter de 
neighbors' cows so, dey won't come about any more — and 
we have to drink our coffee widout cream or sugar. 



NO NOKTH, NO SOUTH. 66 

NO NORTH, NO SOUTH, 
Air — " Auld Lang Syne." 

Columbia's wandering children we, 

Though parted far and long, 
Still keep her days of jubilee, 

Still sing her festal song; 
We link our hands the closer yet, 

When foes against her rave — 
Dishonored he who could forget 

The sacred gift she gavel 

Chorus, 
Then drink to Union ! spite of all 

The threats against it hurled, 
The glorious fabric shall not fall 

Till with it falls the world 1 

"We know no sundered South and North, 

We know no East or West — 
Our fathers sent one message forth 

To all the world's oppressed; 
'Tis ours to guard their altar's light, 

To bear their banner high — 
To let no sable vulture smite 
Their eagle from the sky I 

Then down with black rebellion's rag, 

Its despot and its slave ! 
For only Freedom's holy flag 
O'er Freedom's land shall wave ! 



What is the difference between a clock and a woman ? 
Why, de clock reminds us of de hours, and de woman 
makes us forget 'em. 

Why are folks dat eat turkeys like babies? 
Because dey're fond of de breast! 
6* 



66 'TIS THE LAST CAKE OF SUPPER. 

'TIS THE LAST CAKE OF SUPPER. 

Air — " Last Eose of Summer." 

'Tis the last cake of supper, 

Left steaming alone; 
All its light-brown companions 

Are buttered and gone: 
No cake of its kindred. 

No cookie is nigh, 
To steam on the platter, 

Or near its mate lie ! 

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, 

To meet a cold fate ; 
Since thy mates are all eaten, 

Come lie on my plate: 
Thus kindly I'll butter 

Thy steaming side o'er, 
And think on thy sweetness 

When thou art no more. 

Thus all cakes must follow, 

Three times every day; 
When the meal-times approach, 

They must vanish away I 
When hunger is mighty, 

And sickness has rlown, 
Wheat-cake can inhabit 

The table alone. 



What is the difference between a cat and a document? 
One has pauses at de end of its clauses, while de oder 
has claws at de end of its paws. 

When does a cow become real estate? 
When turned into a field. 



I WISH I HAD A FAT CONTRACT. 67 

I WISH I HAD A FAT CONTRACT. 

Sung by Dan Holt, Ethiopian Comedian. 
Air — " Barbara Allan/' 

white folks I here I is again, 
Where merry hours we passes; 

To come out here and see you all, 

I've left my gin-and-'lassesl 
Oh, I've got my old banjo — 

We know there's music in it; 
And I have got a little song, 

And now I'm goin' to siug it. 

Chorus. 
Den I wish I had a fat contract, 

But it ain't no use a-wishin'— 
For I ain't a-goin' to get it, 

'Kase I ain't a politician. 

But if I had a fat contract 

To make clothes for de sogers, 
De army coats and striped pants, 

It's den I'd feel melogious. 

1 wouldn't use no shoddy, 

Nor no oder stuff dat's rotten ; 
But I'd use de very best of cloth, 
Widout a bit of cotton. 

Den I wish I had, etc. 

Oh, if I had a fat contract 

To make de army shoeses, 
I wouldn't do as some folks do, 

Who de so-gi-ers abuses: 
I'd make de shoes so tight and strong, 

I'd make them neat and taper, 
I'd make them all of leather, 

And I wouldn't use no paper. 

Den I wish I had, etc. 



THE FARMER'S BOY. 

Oh, if I had a fat contract 

To find de pans and kittles, 
De blankets, and de oder tings, 

Likewise de sogers' wittles, 
I wouldn't give them rotten pork — 

A very nasty trick dat — > 
Wid salt beef made of leather, 

And de biscuit like a brickbat ! 

Den I wish I had, etc. 

Oh, if I had a fat contract 

To put down dis rebellion, 
I wouldn't do as some folks do, 

Wid cash my pocket swellin' : 
I'd give de sogers de best of grub, 

And den no foes could bang 'em; 
For Davis and his rebel crowd 

I'd furnish rope to hang 'em. 

Den I wish I had, etc. 



THE FABMER'S BOY. 

The sun had sunk behind the hill, 

Across yon dreary moor, 
"When wet and cold there came a boy 

Up to the farmer's door. 
"Can you tell me," said he, 
" If any there be, 

Who would like to give employ, 
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, 

To be a farmer's boy — 

To be a farmer's boy? 

" My father's dead, my mother's left 
With four poor children small, 

And, what is worse for mother still, 
I'm youngest of them all; 



PATRICK'S SERENADE. 63 

But though I'm little, 

I'll work as hard as I can, 
If I can get employ, to plough," etc. 

"But if no boy you chance to want, 

One favor I will ask — 
To shelter me till break of day, 

From the cold wintry blast. 
And at the dawn of day 
I'll trudge away, 

Elsewhere to seek employ, 
To plough," etc. 



PATRICK'S SEKEHADE. 

Och ! Bridget, mavourneen. joost open the winder, 
And give me a glimpse av your beautiful face ; 

My^ancient dudeen is all burnt to a cinder, 

And boogs are quite thick in this murtherin' place. 

Sure, Biddy, my girl, it's no joke for a janius 
To walk all the day 'nathe the botherin' hod, 

And thin in the night serynade a young Yanius, 
Clane up to his knees in the muddy ould sod. 

I'm dyin' with rapture, my jewel of cratures, 
And niver a lovyer more willingly howled ; 

But don't ye let scoria wrinkle up your swate fatures, 
Because your poor Paddy has got such a cowld. 

The lightnin' is roarin', the toonder is flashin', 
The moon is no bigger than nothin' at all ; 

And such an outragious and divilish splashin' 
I niver did hear since the days I was small. 

Thin open the winder, my queen av affection, 
Or — what is as good — plase open the door; 

Nor dhrame that you're sure of escapin' detection — 
I know ye're awake, by the length av ye're shnore I 



*Q THE JERSEY FISHERMAN. 

THE JERSEY FISHERMAN. 
A Banjo-Song. 

Down near the Battery 

A young gal used to dwell: 
Her father kept an oyster-stand, 

And sold' 'em on the shell; 
Her mother she sold shaving-soap, 

For renovating coats; 
But the gal sold sour apples 

On the Fulton ferry-boats. 

There was a Jersey fisherman, 

His name it was Mr. Crank; 
He used to dig for muscles 

On the Coney-Island banks. 
He fell in love with this young gal, 

Before that he did know her, 
From seeing her picter painted 

On an omnibus's door. 

He took her to Staten Island, 

Where the sogers sleep in tents; 
And her cruel heart was konkered 

By the Dutch regiments. 
" Come, shange de rings mit me, my tear," 

A Dutchman he did say; 
He mashed his drum on the fisherman's head, 

And they both did run away. 

Now all you Jersey musclemen, 

"Whatever you may do, 
Don't go near the oyster-gals, 

Or they'll get you in a stew. 
Hail Columbia up in the garret, 

Yankee Doodle shout-a; 
By-an'-by the policeman 

He can "nix fetch him out-al" 



KIT THE COBBLER. fl 

KIT THE COBBLER. 

By the author of " Simon the Cellarer." 

Kit the Cobbler has built him a stall 

By the side of the Barley-Mow; 
And he leaves his shoes to run after the news — 

It's the way of the trade, I trow. 
There he'll sit, in the Tap, with his jug in his lap, 

And he gives as his "reason why," 
That "he's forced to get to a tap that's wet, 

When the tap of his own gets dry." 

Chorus. 

And tap ! tap ! on the stone in his lap, 
For an hour or so, in cold weather, 

You may catch him at work, 

Nose and knees like a Turk — 

Singing, "Oh, there is nothing like leather!" 
Singing, "Oh, there is nothing like leather I" 

The clerk and he they never agree, 

For Kit at the "parson" mocks; 
And the cause of his wrath is, that one of the cloth 

Once put Master Kit in the stocks! 
For Tory or Whig he "don't care a fig; 

The one is as bad as the other" — 
11 A ten-pound note he will have" for his vote, 

He "wouldn't take less from his brother!" 

Chorus. 

So rap ! rap ! "down with it slap ! 
A man should stick to his tether; 

If I was rich, oh, I'd not do a stitch, 

But sing, ' Oh, there is nothing like leather!* 
But sing, l Oh, there is nothing like leather!' " 

Kit has a wife, as keen as his knife, 

And as sharp as a bristle, too ; 
And the folks do say, she will have her way— 

As wives, now and then, will do. 



72 KIT THE COBBLER. 

At night she'll wait at the little front gate, 

Till she hears him lift the latch ; 
Then out she'll fly — and Kit slips by, 

For he knows what he's like to catch. 

Chorus. 

Whack ! whack ! down it comes on his back, 
And that not as light as a feather; 

For he rubs and swears, as he stumbles up-stairs, 
"Confound it, there's nothing like leather 1 — 
Confound it, there's nothing like leather 1" 



THE END. 



^>*Jt£^ 




THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 



HOW ABE YOU, JOHNNY BULL? 
Tune—" Whack ! Row de Dow." 

Our Country is in danger against a foreign foe ; 

Old England swears her bulls and bears to war are 

bound to go ; 
Since '76 they've tried to fix a cause to raise a row ; 
While rebellion's hot they think they've got a chance 

to whale us now. 

With a whack ! row de dow, 
How are you, Johnny Bull ? 

Whack ! row de dow, 
Oh ! Yankee Doodle doo. 

Our glory ! it to us is dear, our Union's dearer still ! 
John Bull will find, if he goes it blind, of fight he'll get 

his fill. 
But I have heard if a little word will save our 

Constitution, 
We'll save that first, then dare the worst, ere yield to 

dissolution. 

With a whack ! row de dow. 
How are you, Johnny Bull ? 

Whack ! row de dow, 
Oh ! Yankee Doodle doo. 



4 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

But, then, if England wants to fight, (this verse I'll sing 
you nextj) 

If she is bound to have a round, under some poor pre- 
text, 

Then let her ctane ! we'll send her home, as we did 
once before ; 

We've licked her twice, just like a mice, and can do the 
same once more. 

With a whack ! row de dow, 
How are you, Johnny Bull ? 

Whack ! row de dow, 
Oh ! Yankee Doodle doo. 

If such a fierce alternative is forced upon our land, 

E'en Southern men will rally then, and think it time 
to stand ! 

Brothers may clash, in conflict rash, while quarreling' s 
all our own ; 

But if we unite, together fight, we'll shake old Eng- 
land's throne. 

With a whack ! row de dow, 
How are you, Johnny Bull ? 

Whack ! row de dow, 

Oh ! Yankee Doodle doo. 

And Ireland, too, will rise and do what's been her hope 

for years ; 
Strike at the Lion that crushed O'Brien, bedewed their 

soil with tears ! 
For they know that we sent breadstuffs, free, in their 

dark hour of trial ; 
They'll arm and fight, stand by the right, in true old 

Irish style. 

With a whack ! row de dow, 
How are you, Johnny Bull ? 

Whack ! row de dow, 
Oh ! Yankee Doodle doo. 



THE CAMP-FIEE SONGSTEB. 5 

And there's Lou Napoleon, he's got a bone to pick ; 
He may urge them on, and then come down, just like a 

thousand of brick ; 
For he bears in mind how they confined his sire in St. 

Helena — 
I owe you one, when war's begun I'll give you philo- 

pcena. 

With a whack !*row de dow, 
How are you, Johnny Bull ? 

Whack ! row de dow. 
Oh ! Yankee Doodle doo. 

The Southerns are in earnest, they'll whip us if they 

can — 
'Tis plain to see, to you or me, " or any other man ;" 
Then let us swear we'll do or dare— the Union, hence ; 

so be it ! 
We may be whipt, our old Flag stript, but I, for one, 

44 don't see it!" 

With a whack ! row de dow, 
How are you, Johnny Bull ? 

Whack ! row de dow, 
Oh ! Yankee Doodle doo. 

We'll sing of brave McClellan, and glorious General 
Scott ; 

But there's a few, who are as true, that are remem- 
bered not ; 

'Tis the private bold, who, not for gold, goes where the 
bullets rattle, 

He may fight and die, unnoticed lie, upon the field of 
battle. 

With a whack ! row T de dow, 
How are you, Johnny Bull? 

Whack ! row de dow, 
Oh ! Yankee Doodle doo. 



6 THE CAMP-FIHE SONGSTEft. 

THEKE LIES THE WHISKEY BOTTLE, EMPTY ON 

THE SHELF. 

Tune — "John Brown's Song." 

Music published by Russel & Tolman, 291 Washington st., Boston. 

McClellan is our leader now, we've bad our last retreat ; 
McClellan is our leader now, we've had our last retreat ; 
McClellan is our leader now, we've had our last retreat ; 
We'll now go marching on. 

Say, brothers, will you meet us ? 
Say, brothers, will you meet us? 
Say, brothers, will you meet us? 
As we go marching on. 

Thomas turned a Somerset, and gave the rebels rats ; 
Thomas turned a Somerset, and gave the rebels rats ; 
Thomas turned a Somerset, and gave the rebels rats ; 
And sent them rolling home. 

Oh, brothers, we will join him ; 

Oh, brothers, we will join him ; 

Oh, brothers, we will join him ; 

And send them rolling home. 

How are you, Johnny Bull, old boy? How are you, 

Johnny Bull ? 
How are you, Johnny Bull, old boy? How are you, 

Johnny Bull? 
If you want to fight, old Roast Beef, you will get your 

belly full, 
And then go rolling home. 

Oh, Johnny, don't you fight us ; 
Oh, Johnny, don't you fight us ; 
Oh, Johnny, don't you fight us; 
Or we'll send you rolling home. 



THE CAMP-FIEE SONGSTER. / 

We'll have a farm in Dixie, boys, and put some niggers 

on it ; 
We'll have a farm in Dixie, boys, and put some niggers 

on it ; 
We'll have a farm in Dixie, boys, and put some niggers 

on it ; 
And then we'll simmer down. 

Oh, sisters, come and join us ; 

Oh, sisters, come and join us ; 

Oh, sisters, come and join us ; 

Way down in Dixie's land. 

Oh, boys, we'll sip our cobbler's then, and. cloud our 

Meerschaum pipes ; 
Oh, boys, we'll sip our cobbler's then, and cloud our 

Meerschaum pipes ; 
Oh, boys, we'll sip our cobbler's then, and cloud our 

Meerschaum pipes ; 
Way down in Dixie's land. 

Oh, bummers, come and meet us ; 
Oh, bummers, come and meet us ; 
Oh, bummers, come and meet us ; 
Way down in Dixie' s land. . 

There lies the whiskey bottle empty on the shelf ; 
There lies the whiskey bottle empty on the shelf ; 
There lies the whiskey bottle empty on the shelf ; 
But there's more in the demi-john. 

Oh, bummers, don't you leave us ; 
Oh, bummers, don't you leave us ; 
Oh, bummers, don't you leave us ; 
We'll soon go marching on. 

The girls we left behind us, boys, our sweethearts -at 

the North ; 
The girls we left behind us, boys, our sweethearts at 

the North ; 



8 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

The girls we left behind us, boys, our sweethearts at 
the North, 
Smile on us as we march. 

Oh, sweethearts, don't forget us ; 
Oh, sweethearts, don't forget us ; 
Oh, sweethearts, don't forget us ; 
We'll soon come marching home. 



ABKAHAM'S DAUGHTER. 

As sung, -with unbounded applause, by Dan Bryant, in the bur- 
lesque of " The Raw Recruits," and published with his permission. 
The music, with Piano-Forte accompanyment, published by Firth, 
Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, New York. 

Some years ago, I s'pose you know, 

Johnny Bull sent 'missioners 
To North and South of America, 

For to separate this Union : 
He tried it hard, with all his might, 
But didn't we give him a warmer ? oh, oh, oh! 

Chorus. — Whilst we're here, if they interfere, 
Won't we give them a warmer ! 
Oh ! I'm a going down to Washington, 
To fight for Abraham's daughter. 

Now, there's Napoleon, right from France, 
He swears he'll be revenged, oh I 

If Johnny Bull sends his farmyard 
To the Southern ports, oh ! 

He'll rush right in and tear his skin, 
Killkenny is behind, oh, oh, oh ! 

Whilst we're here, &c. 

Oh! Johnny Bull is gone to grass, 

To fatten up his calves, oh ! 
He's talking of sending a shilling-a-day 

Soldiers to the South, oh ! 
But we licked them well, in 1812, 

And we can whip them weller : oh, oh, oh ! 

Whilst we're here, &c. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 



I LOYE A SIXPENCE. 



I love a sixpence, jolly, jolly sixpence, 

I love a sixpence as I do my life ; 
I'll save a penny of it, I'll spend a penny of it, 

I'll take fourpence of it home to my wife. 

For the pipe and the bowl shall greet us, 

Kind friends will ne'er deceive us, 

And happy is the man that shall meet us, 

As we go rolling home. 

Boiling home, rolling home, rolling home, 

Boiling home, rolling home, rolling home, 
And happy is the man that shall meet us, 

As we go rolling home. 

I love a fivepence, jolly, jolly fivepence, 
I love a fivepence as I love my life ; 

I'll save a penny of it, I'll spend a penny of it, 
I'll take threepence of it home to my wife. 

For the pipe and the bowl shall greet us, &c. 



WHACK ! BOW DE DOW. 

Sung "by Dan Bryant, at the hall of Bryant's Minstrels, 472 
Broadway, N. Y., and published with his permission. The music 
published by Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, N. Y. 

Good people all, both great and small, 

Come listen to my song, 

If you've got a little time to spare, 

I won't detain you long ; 

'Tis of our Flag, our Nation's brag, 

Our Union and our Constitution,: 

For the Stars and Stripes must wave 

"Till the day of resurrection, with a 

Whack ! row de dow. 
The Stars and Stripes must wave forever, 

Whack ! row de dow : 
For our Flag we're bound to save. 



10 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

Down South, there's General Beauregard, 

"With his rebel crew, 

Who says he'll make us Northern folks, 

Nip up dee doo den do ; 

We'll have no more Bull-Run affairs, 

Where th6 chivalry say we did knock under ; 

For w r e've got a brave McClellan now, 

Who will give them Northern thunder. 

Whack ! row de dow ; 
How are you, General Bowgun? 

Whack ! row de dow ; 
Dat's wat's de matter. 

Now, there's our gallant Sixty -ninth, 
Who never flinch for trifles, 
And our bully boys, the Fire Zouaves, 
With their little Minie Bines ; 
And first of all in duty's call, 
The Massachusetts boys so handy, 
Who will show the Southern chivalry, 
No fool is Yankee Doodle dandy. 

Whack ! row de dow ; 
No fool is Yankee Doodle dandy; 

Whack ! row de dow, 
Yankee Doodle doo. 

In speaking of our Fire-Zouaves, 

Reminds me of a fact : 

They've proved they don't do things by halves, 

Nor take the backward track. 

At the Battle of Bull Run, 

They fought their way so bravely ; 

Oh I they did lay low to trap the foe — 

How are ye, Black Horse cavalry ? 

Whack ! row de dow ; 
The boys, they were on hand, I tell you. 

Whack ! row de dow ; 
Oh ! Syksey, take de but. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 11 

FREE AND EASY STILL. 

Air — Gay and Happy. 

Published with the permission of Henry McCaffrey, Baltimore . 
owner of the copyright, and publisher of the words and music. 

I'm the lad that's free and easy, 

Wheresoe'er I chance to be ; 
And I'll do my best to please \e, 

If you will but list to me. 

Chorus. — So let the world jog along as it will, 
I'll be free and easy still. 

Some there are who meet their troubles, 
Others drown their cares in drink ; 

All our trials are but bubbles — 
Fretting forges many a link. 
So let the world, &c. 

I envy neither great nor wealthy, 

Poverty I ne'er despise ; 
Let me be contented, healthy, 

And the boon I'll dearly prize. 
So let the world, &c. 

The great have cares I little know of — 

All that glitters is not gold ; 
Merit's seldom made a show of, 

And true worth is rarely told. 
So let the world, &c. 

Why, then, waste our time in fretting — 
The longest lane must have an end, 

Industry strives hard in getting 

Stores for fools and knaves to spend. 
So let the world, &c, 

I care for all, yet care for no man — 
Those who mean well should not fear ; 

I like a man, and love a woman — 
What else makes this life so dear ? 
So let the world, &c. 



12 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 



GAY AND HAPPY. 

Published with the permission of Henry McCaffrey, Baltimore, 
owner of the copyright, and publisher of the words and music. 

I am the girl that's gay and happy, 

And I your attention call ; 
If you'll listen to my story, 

I will try to please you all. 

Chorus. — So let the world jog along as it will, 
I'll he gay and happy still ; 
Gay and happy, gay and happy, 
I'll be gay and happy still. 

If the President sat beside me, 
I would sing with usual glee ; 

He might smile or frown upon me, 
Still I'd sing and happy be. 

So let the world, &c. 

If a man be poor and needy, 

I could never pass him by ; 
But with kindness I would treat him, 

And this world I would enjoy. 
So let the world, &c. 

You may say : the rich and wealthy 

Poverty they do despise, 
I am content, tho' poor, but healthy ; 

Health is the only boon I prize. 

So let the world &c. 

In the South they threaten disunion, 

If the North will not obey ; 
But the spirit of General Washington 

Still keeps guard with Henry Clay. 

So let the world, &c. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 13 

Here's success to Major Anderson, 
The hero, and his gallant band, 

Ever ready to protect, or die 
To save his native land. 

So let the world, &c. 

With our hands and hearts united, 

With the Constitution stand ; 
The Union and our Flag for ever, 
The Stars and Stripes, and our native land. 

So let the world, &c. 

Now, my friends, my song is ended, 

Let the world wag as it will ; 
Every night I'll try to please you, 

I'll be gay and happy still. 

So let the world, &c. 



BULLY FOE US. 

A little song I'm going to sing, 

Bully for us, bully for us, 
To please you all I'll do the thing, 

Bully for me, bully for me ; 
Some things now are very fine, 

So dey are, so dey are, 
I'll sing a verse or two in rhyme, 

Bully for us, bully for us. 

Chorus — Bully, bully, bully for us, 
Bully for us, bully for us, 
Join in the chorus and hab some fun, 
Bully for us, bully for us. 



14 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

Major Anderson is a brave man, 

Dat's a fact, dat's a fact, 
He's de man to light for our land, 

Bully for him, bully for him; 
We will give him a helping hand, 

So we will, so we will, 
Three cheers for him and his little band, 

Hip hurrah, hip hurrah. 

Bully, bully, &c, 

Of generals now we have a lot, 

So we have, so we have, 
The first of all is General Scott, 

Bully for him, bully for him ; 
And to his country he's always true, 

Dat's a fact, dat's a fact ; 
He stands by de Bed, White and Blue, 

Bully for us, bully for us. 

Bully, bully, &c. 

V. 

Abe Lincoln now is in de chair, 

So he is, so he is, 
But wont he make some folks stare ? 

I'll bet he will, I'll bet he will ; 
By de Union now he's bound to stand, 

I believe you, I believe you, 
With Bill Seward on his right hand, 

Bully for them, bully for them. 

Bully, bully/ &c. 

Now, my song I'll bring to an end, 

I think it's time, I think it's time, 
I fiope no one it did offend, 

Dat's a fact, dat's a fact ; 
De Union now must be preserved, 

So it must, so it must, 
And treat traitors as they deserve, 

Hang them up, hang them up. 

Bully, bully, &c. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 15 

From Donelson old Floyd he stole, 

Bully old thief, bully old thief, 
And like a rat went into his hole, 

Bully for us, bully for us. 
The rebels from Manassas ran, 

So they did, so they did, 
But we will catch them if we can, 

Bully for us, bully for us. 

Bully, bully, &c. 



JEFF DAVIS ; 

OR, 

THE KING OF THE SOUTHERN DOMINIONS. 

Air— The King of the Cannibal Islands. 

Come, listen now, and you will hear 
About a joke that's very queer — 

I have it in my mind quite clear : 

The King of the Southern Dominions, 

His Court he did at Pdchmond fix, 

And built his palace of stolen bricks ; 

On Sumter fort he played his tricks, 

And with big balls " put in bio; licks,' ' 
And his name was Jeff, and to him clang 
A rebel, traitorous, thieving gang. 
And Uncle Sam swore soon he would hang 

This King of the Southern Dominions, 
And rebel crew, so high and dry 
That to come down in vain they'd try, 
And then would be " all in my eye," 

The King of the Southern Dominions. 

On Washington his longing eyes, 
He turned, resolved to seize the prize, 

And there would feast and gormandize 
The King of the Southern Dominions ; 



16 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

His aids, Slidel and the gay Yancey, 
With Floyd, who robb'd the Treasury, 
Wigfall, renowned for his bravery, 
And Twiggs who is skilled in knavery, 
And others of a cast the same, 
To work the plot determined came ; 
But Uncle Sam had bluffed their game — 

And the King of the Southern Dominions' 
For soon with trumpet, fife and drum, 
Marched his armies, and they were " some," 
And thev " played out" 'tis true, by gum, 
The King of the Southern Dominions. 



HAPPY LAND OF CANAAN. 

You may talk about de times, 

But jes listen to my rhymes : 
It brings to you de news according 

It tells you how to catch 
Old Jeff and Beauregard, 

And fotch 'em to de happy land of Canaan. [ 

Chorus. — Oh ! oh ! oh ! ae ! se ! ae ! ah ! 

De people in de South am getting mighty hot ; 
But afore dey know, old Jeff will get a shot 
Dat will send him to the happy land of Canaan. 

Oh ! the rebels, they can blow, 
* As all ob you may know, 

Kase dey beat us at de battle of Bull-Run ; 

But when we come on dem again, 
We shall show dem some fun, 

And bring dem to de happy land of Canaan. 
Oh, oh, oh ! &c. 

Oh ! white folks, I s'pose you read 
'Bout old Jeff and his white steed, 

Dat was seen in dat engagement ; 
Says a Union Volunteer, 

Oh ! I'd like to pop him dere, 

And squash him to de happy land of Canaan. 
Oh, oh, oh . &c. 



THE CAMF-FIUE SONGSTER. It 

Oh ! de Fire Zouaves were dere, 

Dey made de Black-Horse cavalry stare ; 

De way dey fought on dat occasion, 
Dey made dem open deir eyes, 

And look in great surprise, 
And wish dey were in de happy land of Canaan. 

Oh, oh, oh ! &c. 



THE UNION. 
Air — Root Hog or Die. 

Away down in South Carolina they're kicking up a 

muss ; 
By bombarding Fort Snmter they surely make it worse ; 
They cannot split the Union, I'll tell you the reason 

why: 
The Newburg boys will make them sing : Boot hog or 

die. 

The Seceshers at Baltimore, not many months ago, 
They tried to rule the city, as you very well do know ; 
They could not come the game, sir, I will tell you the 

reason why : 
The Union boys will make them sing : Boot hog or die. 

The Plug Uglies they did muster, and tried to run us 

out, 
But we had some Union hard stuff that made them look 

about ; 
They could not make us leave the place, I'll tell you 

the reason why : 
The Union boys made them sing : Boot hog or die. 

It was early in the day, boys, at the sound of drum and 

fife, 
"We marched away from home, so full of youth and life; 
We are bound to gain the day, I'll tell you the reason 

why : 
The Union boys will make them sing : Boot hog or die 



18 THE CAMP-ITHE SONGSTER. 

As for Jeff Davis, we will put him back apace, 

We will whip his Southern traitors with the very best 

of grace ; 
They will not stand or make a show, I'll tell you the 

reason why : 
The Union boys will make them sing : Root hog or die. 

The Black Horse cavalry was becoming all the rage, 
But the New York Zouaves caught them, and put them 

in a cage ; 
With Ellsworth at their head, the rebels they did defy, 
The Southern traitors had to sing : Boot hog or die. 

So rally around our colors, boys, and rush into the 

fray; 
And when the wars are over, we will sing another lay. 
Here's to the Union and the Constitution ! we all join 

in the cry : 
The Union, boys, for evermore : Boot hog or die. 



MY LOVE HE IS A ZOU-ZU. 

My love he is a Zou-zu, so gallant and bold, 

He's rough and he's handsome, scarce nineteen years 

old; 
To show off in Washington, he has left his own dear, 
And my heart is a breaking because he's not here. 

Chorus. — For his spirit was brave : it was fierce to be- 
hold, 

In a young man breed a Zou-zu. only nineteen years 
old. 

His parents taught him to be a cavalier, 

But the life of a Zou-zu he much did prefer ; 

For his heart's with his Country in right or in wrong, 

And in Bichmond with Lozier he'll be afore long. 

For his spirit, &c. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 19 

My fond heart is beating for him constantly, 

But I fear his affections may waver from me ; 

For a sweetheart can be found in each State I am told, 

By a young man, a Zou-zu, only nineteen years old. 

For his spirit, &c. 

And now for my Zou-zu I grieve and repine, 

For fear that his brave heart may never be mine ; 

All the wealth of Jeff Davis in cotton or gold, 

I would give for my Zou-zu, only nineteen years old. 

For his spirit, &c. 



YIVA L' AMERICA. 

Published by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, 
N. Y., owners of the copyright, and publishers of the words and 
music. 

Noble Republic ! happiest of lands, 
Foremost of nations, Columbia stands ; 
Freedom's proud banner floats in the skies, 
"Where shouts of Liberty daily arise. 
" United we stand, divided we fall," 
Union forever, freedom to all. 

Chorus. — Throughout the world our motto shall be, 
Viva 1' America, home of the free. 

Should ever traitor rise in the land, 
Curs' d be his homestead, wither' d his hand ; 
Shame be his mem'ry, scorn be his lot, 
Exile his heritage, his name a blot ! 
"United we stand, divided we fall," 
Granting a home and freedom to all. 

Throughout the world, &c. 



20 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

To all her heroes, justice and fame, 
To all her foes, a traitors foul name ; [wave, 
Our " Stripes and Stars" still proudly shall 
Emblem of Liberty, flag of the brave. 
"United we stand, divided we fall," 
Gladly we'll die at our country's call. 

Throughout the world, &c. 



OUR FLAG IS THERE. 

Our Flag is there ! our Flag is there ! 

We'll hail it with three loud huzzas ; 
Our Flag is there ! our Flag is there ! 

Behold the glorious Stripes and Stars ! 
Stout hearts have fought for that bright Flag, 

Strong hands sustained it mast-head high, 
And, oh ! to see how proud it waves, 

Brings tears of joy in every eye. 

Chorus. — Our Flag is there ! our Flag is there ! 
We hail it with three loud huzzas ; 
Our Flag is there ! our Flag is there ! 
Behold the glorious Stripes and Stars I 

That Flag has stood the battle's roar, 

With foemen stout, with foemen brave ; 
Strong hands have strove that Flag to lower, 

And found a speedy watery grave ! 
That flag is known on every shore, 

The standard of a gallant band, 
Alike sustained in peace or war, 

It floats o'er Freedom's happy land. 

Our Flag is there, &c. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 21 

THE UNION MUST AND SHALL BE PKESERYED 

Air — Star Spangled Banner. 

Oh ! say, can a thought so vile and base come 

To the mind of a dweller on Columbia's soil, 
That the work of our fathers should now be undone, 
And unwound should now be the proud, national 

coil? 
And that traitors should sway and rule o'er this proud 

land, 
With tyranny's lash, and the plunderer's brand ! 
No, never ! Freemen, never ! With the right, our arm 

nerved, 
The Union it must and shall be preserved. 

And though traitor may spring from 'mong kindred 

and friends, 
Let them look to themselves, to the Union we're 

true ; 
If their hearts will prove false let its blood make 

amends, 
And the stain we'll wash off while our hands we 

imbue ! 
Neither love of friends false or kindred shall save 
Them the terror of flight, and the gloom of the 

grave ; 
Let them look to themselves, with the right our arm 

nerved, 
The Union it must and shall be preserved ! 

If a son or a father prove false to the flag, 

Then sever the tie with which nature has bound you, 
And remember, though anguish your own heart may 
drag 
To despair, that the love of your country has found 
you. 



22 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

And, whatever the issue he of this foul strife, 

Be sure that it cost not fair Liberty's life. 

Then let traitors beware ! with the right our arm nerved, 

The Union it must and shall be preserved ! 

Oh ! thus be it ever when freemen shall stand 

Between their loved homes and fraternal blood spill- 
ing ; 
May they ever be guided, great God, by thy hand, 

To obey thy just laws and commandments be willing, 
And a prosperous nation we ever shall be, 
With true love for our Country and full trust in Thee, 
Grant these blessings, Jehovah ! with the right still us 

nerve, 
While the Union we rush to uphold and preserve ! 



ANNIE LAURIE. 

Maxwelton Braes are bonnie, 
Where early fa's the dew, 
And it's there that Annie Laurie 
Gie'd me her promise true ; 
Gie'd me her promise true, 
Which ne'er forget will be, 
And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I'd lay me doune and dee. 

Her brow is like the snaw-drift, 
Her throat is like the swan ; 
Her face it is the fairest 
That e'er the sun shone on, 
That e'er the sun shone on, 
And dark blue is her e'e ; 
And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I'd lay me doune and dee. 

Like dew on the gow r an lying, 

Is the fa' o' her fairy feet, 

And like the winds in Summer sighing, 

Her voice is low and sweet, 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 23 

Tier voice is low and sweet, 
And she's a' the world to me ; 
And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I'd lay me doune and dee. 



THE NEW YOEK VOLUNTEER. 

'Twas in the days of '76, 

When Freemen, young and old, 
All fought for Independence then, 

Each hero brave and bold ! 
'Twas then the noble Stars and Stripes 

In triumph did appear, 
And defended by brave patriots, 

The Yankee Volunteers. 

Chorus. — 'Tis my delight to march and fight 
Like a New York Volunteer. 

Now, there's our City Regiments, 

Just see what they have done : 
The first to offer to the State 

To go to Washington 
To protect the Federal Capital 

And the Flag they love so dear ! 
And they've done their duty nobly, 

Like New York Volunteers. 

'Tis my delight, &c. 

The Rebels out in Maryland, 

They madly raved, and swore 
They'd let none of our Union troops 

Pass through Baltimore ; 
But the Massachusetts Regiment 

No Traitors did they fear ; 
But fought their way to Washington, 

Like Yankee Volunteers. 

'Tis my delight, &c. 



24 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

Now, there's the noble Sixty-Ninth, 

Just see what they have done : 
They dug ten miles of trenches, 

Way down at Washington. 
Now, they are reorganizing 

Under Thomas Francis Meagher, 
And they'll avenge brave Corcoran, 

Like New York Volunteers. 

'Tis my delight, &c, 

Then, there's the noble Firemen, 

Ever ready, one and all, 
To quench the burning elements, 

And obey their Country's call ; 
They never shrink from duty, 

But you'll always find them near. 
To avenge brave Col. Ellsworth 

Like New York Volunteers. 

'Tis my delight, &c. 



VIVE LA COMPAGNIE. 

Let Bacchus' to Venus libations pour forth, 

Vive la compagnie ! 
And let us make use of our time while it lasts, 

Vive la compagnie ! 

Chorus : — Oh ! vive la, vive la, vive l'amour, 
Vive la, vive la, vive l'amour, 
Vive l'amour, vive l'amour, 
Vive la compagnie ! 

Let every old bachelor fill upjiis glass, 

Vive la compagnie ! 
And drink to the health of his favorite lass, 

Vive F compagnie ! 

Oh ! Vive la, &c. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 2o 

Let every married man drink to his wife, 

Vive la conipagnie ! 
The friend of his bosom and comfort of life, 

Vive la compagnie ! 

Oh ! vive la, &c. 

Come, fill np your glasses — I'll give yon a toast, 

Vive la compagnie ! 
Here's a health to our friend — our kind ntxrttiy host, 

Vive la compagnie ! 

Oh ! vive la, &c. 

Since all, with good humor, I've toastcrl so free, 

Vive la compagnie ! 
I hope it will please you to drink now with me, 

Vive la compagnie ! 

Oh ! vive la, &c. 



BENNY HAVENS. 

Come, fill your glasses, fellows, and stand up in a row, 
To sentimental drinking we are going for to go ; 
In the army there's sobriety — promotion very slow, 
So we'll sigh o'er reminiscenses of Benny Havens, ! 

Chorus. — Benny Havens, ! Benny Havens, 
We'll sigh o v er reminiscences of Benny Havens, 

Let us toast our foster father, the Republic, as you know, 
Who in the path of science taught us upward for to grow, 
And then the ladies of our land, whose cheeks like roses 

glow, 
Who were oft remembered in our cups at Benny Havens, 0! 

Benny Havens, &c. 



26 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

To the ladies of America, whose hearts and albums, too, 
Bear sad remembrance of the wrongs that stripling 

soldiers do, 
We bid a long farewell, the best recompense we know, 
Our loves and rhymings had their source at Benny 

Havens, ! 

Benny Havens, &c. 

Of the smile-wreathed maids, with virgin lips, like roses 

steeped in dew, 
"Who are to be our better halves, we'd like to take a 

view ; 
But sufficient for the bridal day's the ill of it, you know, 
So we'll cheer our hearts with chorusing old Benny 
Havens, ! 

Benny Havens, &c. 

To the ladies of the army our cups shall overflow, 
Companions of our exile, and a shield 'gainst every foe, 
May they see their husbands Generals, with double pay, 

also, 
And join us in our choruses of Benny Havens, ! 

Benny Havens, &c, 

To our regiments now, fellows, we all must shortly go, 
And look as grave as parsons when they speak of things 

below ; 
We must cultivate the graces, do everything just so, 
And never speak to ears polite of Benny Havens, ! 

Benny Havens, &c. 

Here's a health to Gen'l Scott — God bless the old 

hero, 
He's an honor to his country, and a terror to each foe — 
May he long rest on his laurels, and sorrow never 

know — 
May he live to see a thousand years, and Benny Havens, 1 

Benny Havens, &c. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 27 

Here's a health to General Taylor, whose rough and 

ready blow 
Brought terror to the rancheros of braggart Mexico ; 
May his country ne'er forget his deeds, and never fail 

to show 
She holds him worthy of a place at Benny Havens, ! 

Benny Havens, &c. 

When you and I, and Benny, and brave McClellan, too, 
Are brought before the final board, our course of life to 

view, 
May we never " fess " on any point, but then be told 

to go 
To join the army of the blest, and Benny Havens, ! 

Benny Havens, &c. 

May the army be augmented, promotion be less slow, 
May our country in the time of peace be ready for the 

foe ; 
May we find a soldier's resting-place beneath a soldier's 

blow, 
And space enough beside our grave for Benny Havens, 1 

Benny Havens, &c. 

To our comrades who have fallen, a cup before we go, 
They poured their life-blood freely out, pro-bono-publico ; 
No marble points the stranger to where they rest below, 
They sleep neglected, far away from Benny Havens, ! 

Benny Havens, &c. 

From the courts of death, and danger from Tampa's 

deadly shore, 
Goes up the voice of manly grief : O'Brien is no more ! 
In the land of sun and flowers his head lies buried low, 
No more to sing ' ' Petite Coquille, ' ' and Benny Havens. ! 

Benny Havens, &c. 



28 THE CAMP-FIRE S0XGSTER. 

THE FLAG OF OUR UNION. 

BY GEN. GEO. P. MORRIS. 

" A song- for our banner ! " — the watchword recall 
Which gave the Republic a station : 

" United we stand — divided we fall ! " 
It made and preserves us a nation ! 

W flORUs. — The union of lakes, the union of lands, 
The union of States none can sever ; 
The union of hearts, the union of hands, 
And the Flag of the Union forever and ever ! 
The Flag of the Union forever ! 

What God in his mercy and wisdom design' d 
And arm'd with his weapons of thunder, 

Not all the earth's despots and factions combined 
Have the power to conquer or sunder ! 

The union of lakes, etc. 

Oh ! keep the flag flying— the pride of the van, 

To all other nations display it ! 
The ladies for union are all to a — man ! 

But not to the man who'd betray it. 

The union of lakes, etc. 



THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME. 

The hour was sad I left the maid, a ling' ring farewell 
taking, 

Her sighs and tears my steps delay' d, I thought her 
heart was breaking ; 

In hurried words her name I bless'd, I breath'd the 
vows that bind me, 

And to my heart in anguish press' d the girl I left be- 
hind me. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 29 

Then to the South we bore away, to win a name in story, 
And there where dawns the sun of day, there dawn'd 

our sun of glory ; 
Both blaz'd in noon on Freedom's height, where in the 

post assign 'd me, 
Xshar'd the glory of that fight, sweet girl I left behind me. 

Full many a name our banners bore, of former deeds of 

daring, 
But they were days of Seventy-six, in which we had no 

sharing ; 
But now our laurels freshly won, with the old ones shall 

en twin' d be, 
Still worthy of our sires each son, sweet girl I left 

behind me. 

The hope of final victory within my bosom burning, 
Is mingling with sweet thoughts of thee, and of my 

fond returning ; 
But should I ne'er return again, still worth thy love 

thou'lt find me, 
Dishonor's breath shall never stain the name I'll leave 

behind me. 



OUR COUNTRY'S FLAG. 

Air — Gay and Happy. 

" Our Flag and the Union," in the North is the cry; 

" Our Flag and the Union," and for it we'll die ; 

We'll let the South know the North don't lag 

For plenty to defend our Country's bright flag ! 

Chorus. -Then let the Southerners talk as they will, 
We'll fight for our Flag and the Union still ; 
Our Flag and the Union, our Flag and the Union, 
We'll fight for our Flag and the Union still. 

Our Flag it shall wave o'er the land and the sea, 
And the sons of the brave shall be happy and free ; 
We'll be happy and free while our Flag shall fly, 
And by its bright stars we will conquer or die ! 
Then let the Southerners, &c. 



80 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

In memory of our fathers who are under the sod, 
We'll have hut one Union, one Flag, and one God ; 
And our Flag it shall be just the same as of old, 
That was borne by the free and upheld by the bold. 
Then let the Southerners, &c. 

Then our Union forever ! success to our tars, 
And all brave defenders of the Stripes and Stars ; 
When our flag is before us, borne by hearts brave and 

true. 
Success is sure to follow with the Red, White and Blue, 
Then let the Southerners, &e. 



HOME AGAIN. 

Home again, home again, 

From a foreign shore, 
And oh ! it fills rny soul with joy 

To meet my friends once more. 
Here I dropp'd the parting tear, 

To cross the ocean's foam, 
But now I'm once again with those 

Who kindly greet me home. 

Happy hearts, happy hearts, 

With mine have laughed in glee, 
But, oh ! the friends 1 loved in youth, 

Seem happier to me. 

And if my guide should be the fate, 
Which bids me longer roam, 

But death alone can break the tie 
That binds my heart to home. 

. Music sweet, music soft, 

Lingers round the place, 
And oh ! I feel the childhood charm, 

That time cannot efface ; 
Then give me but my homestead roof, 

I'll ask no palace dome, 
For I can live a happy life 

With those I love at home. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SO:;GSTEB,. 31 

OUR GERMAN VOLUNTEERS. 

Air — New York Volunteers. 

There is a General in the West whose deeds have come 
to fame, 

He is a gallant soldier, and in movements he is game ; 

Then let us raise our voices high and give three hearty- 
cheers 

For Siegal, hero of the West, and his German volun- 
teers : 

For Siegel, hero of the West, and his German volun- 
teers. 

Now, at the battle of Bull Run, we fought well, every 
one can say, 

But panic struck our army, and we had to move away ; 

And in that great confusion, of our rear we had great fears, 

But it was protected by Blenker and his German volun- 
teers : 

But it was protected by Blenker and his German volun- 
teers. 

Now, there's the gallant Fifth Regiment who before 
their duty done, 

They have again offered their services to go to Wash- 
ington ; 

And were it not for Patterson, who did Scott's plan be- 
tray, 

They would join McDowell at Bull Run, and took an 
active part that day : 

They would join McDowell at Bull Run, and took an 
active part that day. 

Then there's the gallant Max Weber, who took an ac- 
tive part, 

When our ships of war bombarded Forts Hatteras and 
Clark ; 

And should the South make an attack, while he and his 
men are there, 

They'll get a mighty good whipping of which they are 
not aware : 

They'll get a mighty good whipping of which they are 
not aware. 



32 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

Now, as I close my little song, I'll say a word or two : 

Should you be called upon to fight, stand by your 
colors true ; 

Then raise your voices with one accord, and give three 
hearty cheers 

For McClellan, Scott and Siegel, and their Union Vol- 
unteers ! 

For McClellan, Scott and Siegel, and their Union Vol- 
unteers ! 



THE UNION MAESEILLAISE. 

Air— Marseillaise Hymn. 

Arouse, ye men who love your Nation ! 

Your starry standard boldly raise ! 
Disunion threats war's desolation, 

And Faction lights her dreadful blaze ! 
Oh ! shall we tamely list to treason, 
And hear our glorious land descried — 
Her laws, her charter, all defied 
By traitors void of truth or reason ? 
Arise, Americans ! 
The Union ! 'tis your own ! 
March on ! march on ! all hearts as one ! 
4 ' Remember Washington ! ' ' 

By hatred nerved to deeds of daring, 

Our frantic foemen threatening stand, 
No sacred tie nor memory sparing, 

Their madness spurns their native land ! 
Above our country's bosom glancing, 
Behold Disunion's murderous knife ! 
Behold ! how rebels dare the strife, 
In Slavery's horrid name advancing. 
Arise, American's! 
I The Union ! ' tis your own ! 
March on ! march on ! all hearts as one ! 
1 ' Remember Washington ! 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

Behold ! how traitor tongues, misleading, 

Have fired the South with frantic rage ; 

Whilst demagogues, dissensions breeding, 

Have cast abroad wars bloody gage ! 
And shall we see our Union riven, 
Our martyrs' sacred graves defiled — > 
Our patriot fathers' names reviled ? 
Arise, and answer — No ! by Heaven ! 
Arise, Americans ! 
The Union ! 'tis your own ! 
March on ! march on ! all hearts as one ! 
" Remember Washington ! 



RED WHITE AND BLUE. 

Oh ! Columbia, the gem of the ocean, 

The home of the brave and the free, 
The shrine of each patriot's devotion 

A world offers homage to thee ! 
Thy mandates make heroes assemble, 

When Liberty's form stands in view, 
Thy banners make tyranny tremble, 

When borne by the Red, White and Blue. 

Chorus. — When borne by the Red, White and Blue ! 
When borne by the Red, White and Blue I 

Thy banners make tyranny tremble, 
When borne by the Red, White and Blue. 

When war raged it's wide desolation, 

And threaten' d our land to deform, 
The ark then of freedom's foundation, 

Columbia, rode safe through the storm ; 
With her garland of victory o'er her, 

When so proudly she bore her bold crew, 
With her flag proudly floating before her, 

The boast of the Red, White and Blue. 

The boast of, &c. 



84 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

The wine cnp, the wine cup bring hither, 

And fill you it up to the brim ; 
May the wreath they have won never wither, 

Nor the star of their glory grow dim ; 
May the service united ne'er sever, 

But hold to their colors so true, 
The army and navy forever ! 

Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue. 

Three cheers, &c. 



HURRAH FOR THE UNION. 
Air — "Wait for the "Wagon. 

Come, brothers, all unite with us, come join us one an< 

all, 
United we must conquer, but divided we shall fall ; 
Our flag is for the Union, and we have a gallant crew, 
Who have raised it, and who love it — 'tis the Red, 

White and Blue. 

Chorus. — Then, hurrah for the Union! hurrah for the 
Union ! 

Hurrah for the Union ! and the Red, White 
and Blue ! 

Our ship's the Constitution, and good patriots at the 
helm 

Will bring us into action, and our foes we'll over- 
whelm ; 

They'll find that we'll be wide awake enough to put 
them through — 

Let our watchword be "The Union," and the Red, 
White and Blue. 

Then, hurrah for the Union, &c. 

Our flag shall be respected — not trampled in the dust — 

The Stars and Stripes shall not come down, though 

traitors say they must ; 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. CD 

Thank God, we have a captain, to his country ever 

true; 
We'll stand by "Winfield Scott, and the Bed, White and 

Blue. 

Then, hurrah for the Union, &c. 

Come, then, all good and true men, and let us all unite, 
With such a gallant leader we are sure to win the fight ; 
Political distinctions late to the winds we threw ; 
We fight but for the Union, and the Red, White and 
Blue. 

Then, hurrah for the Union, &c. 

We fight to save the Union, and God is on our side ; 
We fight to put down traitors who the Union would 

divide ; 
And millions rally round our flag, which no power can 

subdue; 
We can die — but we cannot pull down the Eed, White 

and Blue. 

Then, hurrah for the Union, &c. 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 

'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ; 
A charm from the skies seem to hallow us there, 
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with else- 
where. 

Chorus. — Home, home, sweet, sweet home, 

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like 
home. 

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain ; 
Oh ! give me my lowly thatched cottage again ; 
The birds singing gayly that came at my call ; 
Oh ! give me sweet peace of mind, dearer than all. 

Home, home, &c. 



•36 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

JONATHAN TO JOHN. 

Air — John Anderson my Jo. 

It don't seem hardly right, John, 
When both my hands was full, 
To stump me to a fight, John — 
Your cousin, tu, John Bull ! 
Ole Uncle S. sez he : "I guess 
We know it now," sez he : 
"The lion's paw is all the law, 
According to J. B." 

Blood aint so cool as ink, John : 

It's likely you'd ha' wrote, 
An' stopped a spell to think, John, 
Arter they' cut your throat ? 

Ole Uncle S. sez he : "I guess 
He' skurce ha' stopped," sez he : 
"To mind his p's an' q's, ef that weazin* 
Hed belonged to ole J. B." 

Who made the law that hurts, John, 

Heads I win — ditto tails ? 
li J. B." was on his shirts, John, 
Onless my memory fails. 
Uncle S. sez he : "I guess 
(I'm good at thet)," sez he: 
"Thet sauce for goose ain't jest the juice 
For ganders with J. B." 

When your rights was our wrongs, John, 

You didn't stop for fuss — 
Britanny's trident-prongs, John, 
Was good 'nough law for us. 

Ole Uncle S. sez he : "I guess 
Though physic's good," sez he : 
il It doesn't f oiler that he can f waller 
Prescriptions signed ' J. B.' " 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 37 

"Why talk so dreffle big, John, 
Of honor, when you meant 
You didn't care a fig, John, 
But jest for ten per cent. 

01 e Uncle S. sez he : " I guess 
He's like the rest," sez he : 
" When all is done, it's number one 
That's nearest to J. B." 

We give the critters back, John, 

Coz Abram thought 'twas right ; 
It warn't your bullyin' clack, John, 
Provokin' us to fight. 

Ole Uncle S. sez he : "I guess 
We've a hard row," sez hy : 
"To hoe just now ; but that, some how, 
May happen to J. B." 

We ain't so weak an' poor, John, 

With twenty million people, 
An' close to every door, John, 
A school house an' a steeple. 
Ole Uncle S. sez he : "I guess 
It is a fact," sez he : 
"The surest plan to make a man 
Is, think him so, J. B." 

God means to make this land, John, 

Clear thru, from sea to sea, 
Believe an' understand, John, 
The ivuth o' bein free. 

Ole Uncle S. sez he : "I guess 
God's price is high," sez he : 
"But nothin' else than wut he sells 
Wears long, an' thet, J. B." 



38 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

THE CAMP WAR SONG. 

Raise the Banner, raise it high, boys ! 

Let it float against the sky ; 
" God be with us !" this our cry, boys ; 
Under it we'll do, or die. 
1st Cho. — Arise to glory, glory, glory ! 

Our country calls — march on ! march onf 
2d Cho. — Co-ca-che-lunk-che-lunk-che-la-ly, 
Co-ca-che-lunk-che-lunk-che-lay, 
Co-ca-che-lunk-che-lunk-che-la-ly, 
Rig-a-ge-dig, and away we go ! 

Rebel miscreants, stand from under ; 

Ye who bear the traitor's name ! 
Every star's a bolt of thunder — 

Every stripe a living flame ! 
Arise, &c. 

By our patriot sires in glory, 

By our sainted Washington, 
We will fight, till every Tory 

Falls, that breathes beneath the sun ! 
Arise, &c. 

By our homes, our hearths, and altars, 
By our sweethearts, children, wives, 

He who from our Union falters, 
Dies, hath he a thousand lives ! 
Arise, &c. 

Under Scott, our valiant leader, 

We will lay the traitors low ; 
Crushed to earth, each vile seceder 

Soon shall to our vengeance bow. 
Arise, &c. 

Anderson ! thy name shall cheer us 
'Mid the war field's bloody strife ; 

Old Fort Sumter yet shall hear us 
Call her battlements to life ! 
Arise, &c. 



TIIE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

God of battles ! we implore Thee, 

Nerve our souls, make strong our arms ; 

Bless us, as we bow before Thee, 
In the midst of war's alarms. 
Arise, &c. 

Our spangled banner waving o'er us, 
We come, avengers of the free ! 

Shout, boys, shout ! the foe's before us ! 
Union — God — and Liberty ! 
Arise, &c 



LITTLE RHODE ISLAND. 

Air— Nice little, tight little Island. 
Of all the true host that New England can boast, 

From down by the sea unto highland, 
No State is more true, or more willing to do, 
Than dear little Yankee Rhode Island. 
Loyal and true little Rhody ! 
Bully for you, little Rhody ! 
Grovernor Sprague was not very vague, 
When he said, " Shoulder arms ! Little Rhody I" 

Not backward at all at the President's call, 

Nor yet with the air of a toady, 
The gay little State, not a moment too late, 
Sent soldiers to answer for Rhody. 

Loyal and true little Rhody ! 
Bully for you, little Rhody ! 
Governor Sprague was not very vague, 
When he said, " Shoulder arms ! little Rhody I" 

Two regiments raised, and by ev'ry one praised, 

Were soon on the march for head-quarters ; 
All furnished first-rate at the cost of their State, 
And regular fighting dread-naughters ! 
Loyal and true little Rhody ! 
Bully for you, little Rhcdy ! 
Governor Sprague was not very vague, I 

When he said, " ShoulJer arms ! little Rhody I" 



40 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

Let traitors look out, for there's never a doubt 

That Uncle Abe's army will trip ! em ; 
And as for the loud Carolinian crowd, 
Ehode Island alone, sir, can whip 'em ! 
Loyal and true little Rhody ! 
Bully for you, little Rhody ! 
Governor Sprague is a very good '\gg, 
And worthy to lead little Rhody .' 



THF LONDON "TIMES" ON AMERICAN AFFAIRS 

Ais— Villikins and his Dinah. 

John Bull vos a-valkin' his parlor von day, 
Ha-fixin' the vorld wery much his hown vay, 
Ven igstrawnary news cum from hover the sea, 
Habout the great country vot brags it is free. 

Ri tu ri li ru li ra, ri tu ri li ra, 
Ri tu ri li ru li ra, ri tu ri li ra, 
Ri tu ri li ru li ra, ri tu ri li ra, 
Ri tu ri li ru li ra, ri tu ri li ra. 

Hand these vos the tidins this news it did tell, 
That great Yankee Doodle vos going to— -veil, 
That he vos a-volloped by Jefferson D., 
Hand no longer tk some punkins" vos likely to be. 
Ri tu ri li, &c. 

John Bull, slyly vinkin,' then said bunto he ; 
" My dear Times, my hold covey, go pitch hintohe ; 
Let us vollop great Doodle now ven 'e is down ; 
Hif ve vollops him veil, ve vill 'do 'im up brown.' 
Ri tu ri li, &c. 

" His long-legged boots hat my 'ed 'e 'as 'urled, 
I'd rather not see 'em a-trampin' the vorld ; 
Hand I howe him a grudge for his conduct so wile, 
An himportin' shillalahs from Erin's green hile. 
Ri tu ri li, &c. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 4l 

11 1 knows Jefferson D. is a rascally chap, 
Who goes hin for cribbin' the Guvurnment pap ; 
That Hexeter 'All may be down upon me, 
But as Jeff, 'as the cotton, I'll cotton to he. 
Ei tu ri li, &c. 

So Bull he vent hin the blockade for to bust ; 
The Christians they cried, and the sinners they cussed ; 
There vos blowin' , and blusterin' , and mighty parade, 
And hall to get ready to break the blockade. 

Ri tu ri li, &c. 

Yen hall hof a sudden it come in the 'ed 
Hof a prudent hold covey, who up and 'e said ; 
11 Hit's bad to vant cotton, but worser by far, 
His the sufferin hand misery you'll make by a war. 
Ri tu ri li, &c. 

So he sent not 'is vessel hacross the broad sea, 
Yich vos hawful 'ard lines for poor Jefferson D.. 
Hand wrote hunto Doodle, " 'Old hon, and be true !' 
And Jonathan hanswered Bull, " Bully for you !" 
Ri tu ri li, &c. 

SEQUEL AFTER-TIMES. 

Has Bull vos valking in London haround, 
'E found the Times ]ym' hupon the cold ground, 
With a big bale hof cotton right hover 'is side ; 
Says Bull' " Hi perceive 'twas by cotton he died I" 



THE BUGLE NOTE. 

Air — Marseillaise. 

Oh, freemen's sons arouse to battle, 
'Gainst the proud, insulting foe ; 

Shall their cannon 'round us rattle, 
And no arm to strike a blow ? — 
And no arm to strike a blow ? 



42 THE CAMP-FIRE SOS G STEP.. 

Too long has tolerance been given, 
By forbearance kind and free ; 
But let now the war-cry be, 
Our blest laiK! shall ne'er be riven ! 

To arms ! to arms, ye brave ! 
Our trampled flag reclaim 
From traitor's grasp, and nobly win 
A patriot's honored name. 

Hear, hear the cannon loudly roaring, 

'Round our brave and valiant band ; 
And a nation loud deploring 

The stained honor of our land — 
The stained honor of our land. 
And will you tamely now surrender 
To a false and perjured host, 
Your glorious country" s boast, 
Refusing to defend her ? 

To arms ! to arms, ye brave ! 
Our trampled flag reclaim 
From traitor's grasp, and nobly win 
A patriot's honored name. 



THE SOLDIER'S HYMN. 

Air— Old Hundred. 

God of our fathers, on the earth, 
Girt for the fight, Thy servants stand ; 
Oh, bless us, ere the trumpet sound, 
With strength from Thy almighty hand. 

The cloud of war comes from the South ; 

The battle-storm bursts o'er our heads 
Our starry flag a rainbow bright, 

A glory round our pathway sheds. 

Our fathers' spirits watch that flag, 
They left to us without a stain ; 

We take their motto in our hearts— 
" To die for Liberty is gain." 



THE CAilP-flRE SONGSTER. 43 

And when victorious we return, 

Oh, may those folds be pure and free, 

As when our father, Washington, 
Gave us our Flag and Liberty. 

Thou God of Battles, hear our prayer ! 

From Western plains to Eastern coasts, 
Strong in Thy blessing forth we march — 

Our trust is in the Lord of Hosts. 



OUR FATHERLAND. 

God save our Fatherland ! from shore to shore ; 
God save our Fatherland, one evermore. 
No hand shall peril it, 
No strife shall sever it, 
East, West, and North and South ! 
One evermore ! 
Chorus — God save our Fatherland ! true home of Free 
dom ! 
God save our Fatherland, one evermore ; 
One in her hills and streams, 
One in her glorious dreams, 
One in Love's noblest themes — 
One evermore ! 

Strong in the hearts of men, love is thy throne ; 
Union and Liberty crown thee alone ; 
Nations have sighed for thee ; 
Our sires have died for thee ; 
We'll all be true to thee — 
All are thine own. 
God save our Fatherland, &c. 

Ride on, proud Ship of State, though tempests 

lower ; 
Bide on in majesty, glorious in power ; 
Though fierce the blast may be, 
No wrcjk shall shatter thee — 
Storms shall but bring to thee 
Sunshine once more. 
God save our Fatherland, &c. 



44 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

THE STRIPES AND THE STARS. 

BY EDNA DEAN PKOCTOR. 

Air— The Star Spangled Banner. 

Oh ! Star Spangled Banner ! the Flag of our pride ! 
Though trampled by traitors and basely defied, 
Fling out to the glad winds your Red, V/hite, and 

Blue, 
For the heart of the North-land is beating for you ! 
And her strong arm is nerving to strike with a will 
Till the foe and his boastings are humbled and still ! 
Here's welcome to wounding and combat and scars 
And the glory of death— for the Stripes and the Stars ! 

From prairie, ploughman ! speed boldly away — 
There's seed to be sown in God's furrows to-day — 
Row landward, lone fisher ! stout woodman come 

home ! 
Let smith leave his anvil and weaver his loom, 
And hamlet and city ring loud with the cry, 
" For God and our country we'll fight till we die ! 
Here's welcome to wounding and combat and scars 
And the glory of death— for the Stripes and the Stars I" 

Invincible Banner ! the Flag of the Free ! 
Oh ! where treads the foot that would falter for thee ? 
Or the hands to be folded, till triumph is won 
And the Eagle looks proud, as of old. to the sun ? 
Give tears for the parting — a murmur of prayer — 
Then Forward ! the fame of our standard to share ! 
With welcome to wounding and combat and scars 
And the glory of death — for the Stripes and the Stars. 

O God of our Fathers ! this Banner must shine 
Where battle is hottest, in warfare divine ! 
The cannon has thundered, the bugle has blown — 
We fear not the summons — we fight not alone ! 
Oh! lead us, till wide from the Gulf to the Sea 
The land shall be sacred to Freedom and Thee ! 
With love, for oppression ; with blessing, for scars,— 
>ne Country — one Banner — the Stripes and the Stars ! 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 45 

THE YANKEE VOLTJNTEEKS. 

As sung by Private Ephraim Peabody, on the night after the 
march through Baltimore. * 

Air— 'Tis my delight on a shiny night. 

Come, all ye true Americans that love the Stripes and 
Stars, 

For which your gallant countrymen go marching to the 
wars ; 

For grand old Massachusetts raise up three rousing 
cheers ; 

Three times three and a ti-ger for the Yankee Volun- 
teers ! 

The nineteenth day of April they marched unto the 
war, 

And on that day, upon the way, they stopped at Balti- 
more, 

And trustingly expected the customary cheers 

Which every loyal city gives the YankeeYolunteers. 

But suddenly in fury there came a mighty crowd, 
Led on by negro drivers, with curses long and loud, 
With frenzied imprecations, with savage threats and 

sneers, 
They welcomed to the city the Yankee Volunteers. 

So furious grew the multitude, they rushed at them 
amain, 

And a great storm of missiles came pouring like a rain. 

Amid a thunderous clamor, such as mortal seldom 
hears. 

They tried to cross the city, did the Yankee Volun- 
teers. 

The murderous storm of missiles laid many a soldier 
low, 

Yet still these gallant hearts forebore to give the an- 
swering blow, 

Till all the miscreants shouted, " They're nearly dead 
with fears ; 

We'll hurry up aud finish these Yankee Volunteers." 



46 THE OAMP-FIKE SONGSTER. 

But, lo i the guns are leveled, and loud the volleys 

roar, 
And, inch by inch, they fight their way through the 

streets of Baltimore ; 
Before them shrunk the traitors, above them rise the 

cheers, 
As through the throng, a myriad strong, march on the 

Volunteers. 

Hurrah, then, for the old Bay State that stood so well 
at bay ! 

Hurrah, for those who shed their blood, and gave their 
lives away ! 

For grand old Massachusetts, boys, let's give three 
rousing cheers ! 

Three times three and a ti-ger for the Yankee Volun- 
teers ! 



GOD SAVE OUR NATIVE LAND 

BY JAMES WALDEN. 
Aib. — America. 
God save our native land 
From the invader's hand — 

Home of the free ! 
Though ruthless traitors aim 
To crush our nation's fame, 
Yet still, in Freedom's name, 
We cling to thee ! 

Lord ! we humbly pray, 
Far distant be the day 

Ere that shall be ; 
Though lawless bands combine 
To shatter Freedom's shrine, 
With faith and hope divine 

We cling to thee ! 

Lord ! when, hand to hand, 
Brothers as foes shall stand, 
Shield Thou the right ! 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 47 

Stay these unhappy wars, 
Join us in one great cause — 
To guard our nation's laws 
With freemen's might ! 

Lord ! may this strife soon cease ; 
Grant us a lasting peace — 

Parted we fall ! 
Long may our banner wave 
Over the free and brave — 
Lord ! our country save — 

God save us all ! 



A GOOD TIME COMING. 
There is a good time coming, Doys, 

A good time coming ; 
There's a good time coming, boys, 

Wait a little longer ; 
We may not live to see the day, 
But earth shall glisten in the ray 

Of the good time coming. 
Cannon-balls may aid the truth, 

But thought's a weapon stronger ; 
We'll win our battles by its aid, 

Wait a little longer. 
There's a good time coming, boys, 

A good time coming, 
There's a good time coming, boys, 

Wait a little longer. 

There's a good time coming, boys, 

A good time coming ; 
There's a good time coming, boys, 

Wait a little longer ; 
The pen shall supersede the sword, 
And right, not might, shall be the lord. 

In the good time coming ; 
Worth, not birth, shall rule mankind, 

And be acknowledged stronger ; 
The proper impulse has been given, 

Wait a little longer. 



48 THE CAMP-TIRE SONGSTER. 

There's a good time coming, boys, 
A good time coming. 

There's a good time coming, boys, 
Wait a little longer. 



A BIG THING ON ICE. 

Air — A good time coming, boys. 

There's a big thing coming, boys, 

"A big thing on ice ;" 
There's a big thing coming, boys, 

Wait a little longer. 
When we get ready to advance, 
Oh ! then we'll make Jeff. Davis dance, 

With the big thing coming ; 
Shinplasters ma}' be plenty South, 

But gold and silver's stronger, 
And we've strong arms to win the fight, 

Wait a little longer. 
There's a big thing coming, boys, 

A big thing coming ; 
There's a big thing coming, boys, 

Wait a little longer. 

There's a big thing coming, boys, 

A big thing coming ; 
There's a big thing coming, boys, 

Wait a little longer. 
Treason and traitors we'll strike down, 
Victory will all our efforts crown, 

With the big thing coming. 
Could we but see MeClellan's plan, 

It would not make us stronger, 
Be steady, then, each Union man, 

And wait a little longer. 
There's a big thing coming, boys, 

Wait a little longer; 
There's a big thing coming, boys, 

"Wait a little longer. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 49 



THE BRAVE BOYS OF COMPANY D. 

Composed and respectfully dedicated to the officers and mem 
bers of Company D, Tenth Regiment National Zouaves. 

BY J. C. GOBRIGHT. 

Air — Rosin the Beau. 
Come gather around, gallant soldiers, 

With hearts full of mirth and of glee ; 
Joyfully join in the chorus, 

With the brave sons of Company D. 

In the morning when reveille is over, 

Our hands then we joyfully rub, 
Refreshed we arise from our clover, 
And quickly fall in for our grub. 

For guard and for drill always ready 

We attend to our earliest call, 
And with steps that are firm and are steady, 

Fall into the ranks one and all. 

At night when our duties are over, 
And all thought of our labor is fled, 

We quickly spread out our cover, 
And nimbly jump into the bed. 

When forward we march on the rebels, 

They will be in a terrible fix, 
They will think that the devil is coming 

When they see Col. John E. Bendix. 

Secession may boast of her cotton, 

But we will wind up some thread on her spool, 
For by them it will not be forgotten, 

That we have the right sort of Wool, 

To-night let us think of the loved ones, 

Who silently miss us at home ; 
They know that we love and respect them, 

Although we have left them alone. 



50 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

To our parents, our sisters, our brothers, 
Our wives and our children so dear, 

Our sweethearts, our friends, and all others, 
Let us fill up and drink them good cheer. 

Let us sing and now wind up the chorus. 

And think of the work we have to do ; 
We have plenty of fighting before us, 

If we stand by " the Red, White, and Blue!" 



THE DIXIE OF OUR UNION. 

Let all good Union men about 
Come join us in a glorious shout, 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
For Union and our Country dear, 
We'll raise aloft a hearty cheer, 
Hurrrh ! hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
Chorus. — Then for our Union we will stand, 
Hurrah 1 hurrah ! 
And all, throughout this happy land. 
Will join together heart and hand ; 
Hurrah 1 hurrah ! Then hurrah for our Union ! 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! Then hurrah for our Union ! 

Let us unite with all our might, 
And drive Disunion from our sight, 

Hurrah ! &c. 
And let all people know their doom, 
If they too much on us presume ; 

Hurrah ! &c. 

Then for our Union, &c. 

Oh ! may our Stars and Stripes still wave 
Forever o'er the Free and Brave I 

Hurrah ! &c. 
And let our motto ever be — 
For Union and for Liberty ! 

Hurrah ! &c. 

Then for our Union, &c. 



THE CAMP-FIEE SONGSTER. 61 

From Maine to Texas let the cry 
Of Union mount up to the sky, 

Hurrah ! &c. 
And from Atlantic may its roar 
Be heard on old Pacific' s shore ; 

Hurrah ! &c. 

Then for our Union, &c. 

And now, dear friends, let one and all, 
Bespond unto his Country's call, 

Hurrah ! &c. 
For Union in our land so blest, 
From North to South, from East to "West, 

Hurrah ! &c. 

Then for our Union, &c. 



A YANKEE SHIP AND A YANKEE CKEW. 

A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew, 

Tally hi ho ! you know ! 
O'er the bright blue waves like a sea-bird flew, 

Singing hey ! aloft and alow ! 
Her sails are spread to the fairy breeze, 

The spray sparkling as thrown from her prow, 
Her flag is the proudest that floats on the seas, 
When homeward she's steering now. 
A Yankee ship, &c. 

A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew, 

Tally hi ho ! you know ! 
With hearts aboard both gallant -and true, 

The same aloft and alow. 
The blackened sky and the whistling wind 

Foretell the approach of a gale, 
And home and its joys flit over each mind ; 

Husbands, lovers, on deck there ! a sail ! 
Distress is the word, God speed them through- 
Bear a hand aloft and alow ! 
A Yankee ship, &c. 



t)2 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew, 

Tally hi ho ! you know ! 
Freedom defends the land where it grew — 

We're free aloft and alow ! 
Bearing down is a ship in regal pride, 

Defiance at each mast-head ; 
She's wrecked, and the one bears that floats alonpaide 

The Stars and the Stripes, still to victory wed, 
That ne'er strike to a foe while the sky is blue, 
Or a tar's aloft and alow. 
A Yankee ship, &c. 



"DIXIE," OF THE MICHIGAN BOYS. 

Away down South where grows the cotton, 
'Seventy-six seems quite forgotten ; 

Far away, far away, far away, Dixie land. 
And men with rebel shout and thunder 
Tear our good old flag asunder ; 

Far away, far away, far away, Dixie land. 

Chorus. — Then we're bound for the land of Dixie, 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
In Dixie land w r e'll take our stand, 
And plant our flag in Dixie, away, away, 
Away down South in Dixie, away, away, 
Away down South in Dixie. 

That flag — the foeman quailed before it, 
When our patriot fathers bore it ; 

Far away, far away, far away, Dixie land. 
And battle fields are shrined in story, 
Where its folds were bathed in glory ; 

Far away, far away, far away, Dixie land. 
Then we're bound, &c. 

And now when traitor hands assail it, 

Staunch defenders ne'er shall fail it ; 

Far away, far away, far away, Dixie land. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 53 

Nor from its glorious constellation 
Stars be plucked by pirate nation ; 
Far away, far away, far away, Dixie land. 
Then we're bound, &c. 

Undimmed shall float that starry banner, 

Oyer Chaileston and Savannah ; 
Far away, far away, far away, Dixie land. 

And Bunktr Hill and Pensacola 

Own alike its mission holy ; 
Far away, far away, far away, Dixie land. 
Then we're bound, &c. 

Yes, sound the march ! Our Northern freemen 
Turn not back for man or demon, 
Far away, far away, far away, Dixie land. 
Until once more our banner glorious 
Waves o'er Dixie land victorious, 
Far away, far away, far away, Dixie land. 
Then we'll plant our flag in Dixie ! 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
Whoever hauls the old flag down, 

We'll shoot him down in Dixie ! 
Away, away, away down South in Dixie ! 
Away, away, away down South in Dixie ! 



O'lOOLE AND McFINNIGAN ON THE WAK. 
Am— Barnaby Finegan. 

Two T rishmen out of employ, 

And out at the elbows as aiz ly, 
Adrift in a grocery store, 

Were smoking and taking it lazily. 
The one w r as a broth of a boy, 

Whose cheek-bonss turned out and turned in 
again, 
His name it was Paddy 0' Toole, 

The other was Misther McFinnigan. 



54 THE OAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

" I think of enlistm',' ' says Pat, 

" Because, do ye see what o'clock it is ? 
There's nothin' adorn' at all, 

But drinking at Mrs. O'Docharty's. 
It's not until after the war 

That business times will begin again, 
And fightin's the duty of all" — 
" You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. 

' Bad luck to the rebels, I say, 

For kickin' up all of this bobbery, 

They call themselves gintlemin, too, 
While practisin' murder and robbery ; 

Now, if it's gintale for to stale, 

And take all your creditors in again, 

I'm glad I'm no gintlcman born" — 

M You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. 

" The spalpeens make bould to remark, 

Their chivalry couldn't be ruled by us ; 

And, by the same token, I think 

They're never too smart to be fooled by us. 

Now, if it's the nagurs they mane 
Be chivalry, then it's a sin again 

To fight for a cause that is black" — 

" You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. 

" Och, hone ! but it's hard that a swate 

Good-lookin' young chap like myself, indade, 

Should loose his ten shillin's a day, 

Because of the throuble the South has made ; 

But that's just the reason, ye see, 

Why I should help Union to win again, 

It's that will bring wages once more" — 

" You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. 

" Joost mind what old England's about, 
A sending her throops into Canaday, 
And all her ould ships on the coast 
Are ripe for some treachery any day ; 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 55 

Now if she should mix in the war — 

Be jabers ! it makes me head spin again — 
Child Ireland would have such a chance V ' — 
" You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. 

" Och, murther ! me blood's in a blaze, 
To think of bould Corcoran leading us 

Bight into the camp of the bastes 

Whose leeches so long have been bleeding us ! 

The Stars and the Stripes here at home, 
To Canada walls we would pin again, 

And wouldn't we raise them in Cork?" 

" You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. 

" And down at the South, do ye mind, 
There's plinty of Irishmen mustering, 

Deluded to fight for the wrong 

By rebel mis-statements and blustering ; 

But once let ould England, their foe, 
To fight for the Union begin again, 

And sure, they'd desert to a man !" 

" You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. 

€< Hurroo ! for the Union, me boys, 

And divil take all who would bother it ; 

Secession's a nagur so black 

The divil himself ought to father it ! 

Hurroo for the bould 69th, 

That's prisintly bound to go in again ; 

It's Corcoran' s rescue they're at" — 

" You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. 

"I'm off right away to enlist, 
And sure won't the bounty be handy-0 ! 

To kape me respectably dressed, 

And furnish me dudheens and brandy-0 ! 

I'm thinkin', me excellent friend, 

You're eyeing that bottle of gin again ; 

You wouldn't mind thryin' a dhrop" — 

" You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. 



6G THE CAMP-FIRB SOKGSTEXt. 

COME, LANDLORDS, FILL, 

Chorus — Come, landlords, fill your flowing bowl, 
Until it doth run over ; 
For to-night we'll merry, merry be, 
To-morrow we'll get sober. 

Solo — The man that drink? good whiskey-punch,, 
And goes to bed mellow, 
lives as he ought to live, 
And dies a clever fellow. 
Come, landlords, &c. 

The man that drinks cold water, boys, 

And goes to bed sober, 
Falls as the leaves do fall, 

And dies in October. 

Come, landlords, &c. 

But he who drinks just what he wants, 

And getteth half seas over, 
Will live until he dies, perhaps, 

And then lie down in clover. 
Come, landlords, &c. 



THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER. 

Oh ! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last 
gleaming? 
Whose stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, 
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly 
streaming ; 
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still 

there. 
Chorus. — Oh ! say, does that star-spangled banner yet 
wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the 
brave ? 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONCISTER. 57 

On the shore, dimly seen through the mist of the deep, 

Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, 
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, 

As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam ; 
In full glory reflected, now shines in the stream. 

'Tis the the star-spangled banner — Oh ! long may it 
wave 

O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave ! 

And where is that band who so. vauntingly swore, 
'Mid the havoc of war, and the battle's confusion, 

A home and a country they'd leave us no more? 

Their blood has washed out their foul footstep's posi- 
tion; 

No refuge could save the hireling and slave 

From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave. 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave I 

Oh ! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 
Between their loved home and war's desolation ! 

Blessed with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued 
land 
Praise the power that has made and preserved us 
a nation ; 

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 

And this be our motto : " In God is our trust !" 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! 

ADDITIONAL VERSE, BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

When our land is illumined by Liberty's smile, 
If a foe from within strike a blow at her glory, 

Down, down with the traitor that dares to defile 
The flag of her stars and the page of her story ! 

By the millions unchained when our birthright was 
gained, 

We will keep her bright blazon forever unstained ! 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
While the land of the free is the home of the brave ! 



58 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

ADDITIONAL VERSE, BY MISS STEBBINS, THE SCULPTOR. 

When treason's dark cloud hovers black o'er the land, 
And traitors conspire to sully her glory, 

When that banner is torn by a fratricide band, 

Whose bright, starry folds shine illumined in story, 

United we stand for the dear native land, 

To the Union we pledge every heart, every hand ! 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! 



COME, KAISE THE BANNER HIGH. 

BY FRANCIS B. MURTHA. 
Axb — 'Tis my delight on a shiny night. 
Come, raise that banner hig3\, my boys, 

Hang out the Stripes and Stars ; 
Forever wave that glorious flag 

Above the Stars and Bars. 
Where'er it floats in freedom's cause 

All discord disappears ; 
For it's our delight to march and fight 

As Union Volunteers. 

"Then shout, shout, shout the loud huzza, 

And pledge each heart and hand 
To fight the Union's glorious cause — 

Drive treason from the land ; 
To make those Southern rebels crave 

Our pardon with their tears ; 
For it's our delight to march and fight 

As Union Volunteers. 

McClellan leads the army, boys ! 

Our country's hope and pride ! 
Already cries of victory 

Redound on every side ! 
Then shout the war-cry loud, my boys, 

Banish coward fears ; 
For it's our delight to march and fight 

As Union Volunteers. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 59 

A GLASS IS GOOD. 

A glass is good, and a lass is good, 

And a pipe is good in cold weather ; 
The world is good, and the people are good, 

And we're all good fellows together. 
A bottle is a very good thing, 

With a good deal of good wine in it ; 
A song is good, when a body can sing, 
And to finish, we must begin it. 
Chorus. — For a glass is good, and a lass is good, 
And a pipe is good in cold weather ; 
The world is good, and the people are good, 
And we're all good fellows together. 

A friend is good when you're out of good luck, 

For that is the time to try him ; 
For a Justice, good the haunch of a buck — 

With such a good present you'll buy him. 
A fine old woman is good, when she's dead ; 

A rogue very good for good hanging ; 
A fool is good by the nose to be led, 

And my song deserves a good banging. 
For a glass is good, &c. 



CORPORAL KELLY. 

Air — Barnaby Finegan. 

Away with the mallet and chisel- 
No more of a stone-cutter's life ; 

My books and my papers shall mizzle, 
For I'll follow the drum and the fife. 

I was once a stone-cutter, hard-fisted, 

But the ' ' ranks' ' had a charm for my eye ; 

So I bent down my head, and I 'listed 
To the tune of the " Bould Soger Boy." 

I am covered with trappings and facings, 
And a gilt eagle sits on my cap ; 

I am learning my marchings and facings, 
And at last I'm a good-looking chap. 



60 THIS CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

Oh I bomb-shells may fly like thedivil— 
They may blow up foundation and roof— 

They can light on my head ; and be civil, 
For, d'ye mind, it's intirely bomb-proof. 

I've courage enough, I am thinking, 

And I'll always the enemy meet ; 
But when a friend's glass I am drinking, 

I'll not be the last at re-treat. 
The ladies can't help but desire me, 

Since I've caught their sweet hearts in a trap ; 
But there's one that must never admire me — 

Her name, I believe, is " Miss Hap." 

The whip never marked my broad back, 

Nor gave my big stomach the gripes ; 
Yet I may be stretched on the rack, 

If I haven't been getting the stripes. 
But the stripes, you must know, were no harm— 

They were a great honor, I tell ye ; 
For they were all laid on my arm, 

And I am bould Corporal Kelly. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to mind, 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days o' lang syne. 
Chorus — For auld lang sjrne, my dear, 
For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne. 

"We twa ha'e run about the braes, 
And pu'd the gawans fine ; 

But we've wandered many a weary foot 
Sin auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, &c. 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 61 

"We twa ha'e paid let i' the burn, 

Frae morning sun till diue ; 
But seas between us braid ha'e roared, 

bin auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, &c. 

And there's a hand, my trusty feire, 

And gie's a hand o' thine ; 
And we'll tak' a right gude willie waugkt 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, &c. 

And surely you'll be your pint stoup, 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, &c. 



DRINK IT DOWN. 

A popular Camp Song. 

Here's success to Port, 
Chorus — Drink it down, drink it down, 
Here's success to Port, 
Chorus. — Drink it down. 
Here's success to Port, 
For it warms the heart for sport, 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 

Here's success to Sherry, 

Drink it down, drink it down, 

Here's success to Sherry, 
Drink it down. 

Here's success to Sherry, 

For it makes the heart beat merry, 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 



62 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

Here's success to Whiskey, 

Drink it down, drink it down, 

Here's success to Whiskey, 
Drink it down. 

Here's success to Whiskey, 

For it makes the spirits frisky, 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 

Here's success to cider, 

Drink it down, drink it down, 

Here's success to cider, 
Drink it down. 

Here's success to cider, 

For it makes the frame grow wider, 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 

Here's success to Brandy, 

Drink it down, drink it down, 

Here's success to Brandy, 
Drink it down. 

Here's success to Brandy, 

Just enough to make us handy, 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 

Here's success to Ale, 

Drink it down, drink it down, 
Here's success to Ale, 

Drink it down. 
Here's success to Ale, 
When its made us strong and hale, 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 

Here's success to Punch, 

Drink it down, drink it down, 
Here's success to Punch, 

Drink it down. 
Here's success to Punch, 
With a little social lunch, 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 



THE CAMP-riRi: SONGSTER. 63 

Here's success to Porter, 

Drink it down, drink it down, 

Here's success to Porter, 
Drink it down. 

Here's success to Porter, 

While we use it as we u oughter," 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 

Here's success to Water, 

Drink it down, drink it down, 

Here's success to Water, 
Drink it down. 

Here's success to Water, 

Heaven's draught that does no slaughter, 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 



AMERICA. 
My country, 'tis of thee, 
Sweet land of Liberty, 

Of thee I sing : 
Land where my fathers died, 
Land of the Pilgrims' pride, 
From every mountain-side, 

Let freedom ring. 

My native country, thee, 
Land of the noble, free — 

Thy name I love : 
I love the rocks and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills ; 
My heart with rapture thrills 

Like that above. 

Let music swell the breeze, 
And ring from all the trees 

Sweet freedom's song : 
Let mortal tongues awake, 
Let all that breathes partake, 
Let rocks their silence break, 

The sound prolong. 



64 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

Our fathers' God, to thee, 
Author of liberty, 

To thee I sing : 
Long may our laud be bright 
With freedom's holy light ; 
Protect us by thy might, 

Great God our King. 



UNION AND JUSTICE. 

Aie— Flag of our Union. 

For Union and Victory with firmness we stand , 

For Union and Justice victorious ; 
The Union of Eight and the Hope of our land, 
Whose brow wears the crown ever glorious. 
Our banners are waving o'er every State 

Where Liberty's lovers are dwelling, 
And the voices of cannonry, orators great, 
Of the glory of Union, are telling. 
Chorus — For Union and Justice victorious, victorious ; 
For Union and Justice victorious, victorious ; 
United we fight 
The battle of Right, 
For Union and Justice victorious. 

Our motto is " Eight," and such ever shall be ; 

Our battle-cry, "Union forever ;" 
Our souls, true to Justice, shall ever be free, 

And shall bow down to Severance never. 
American hearts, patriotic and strong, 

American hearts charged with bravery, 
For Union and Justice now wrestle with Wrong J 

In, the war between Honor and Knavery. 
For Union and Justice, &c. 

Oh ! men of Columbia, be loyal and true ! 

Be firm in the midst of the battle, 
And never, ne'er shrink while there's something to do, 

Tho' the enemy's shot 'round you rattle* 



THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. G5 

If strong in our strength as our hope we will be, 

And as true as our object is glorious, 
We'll add a new star to the flag of the free, 

And make Union and Justice victorious. 
For Union and Justice, &c. 



SONGS OF THE CAMP. 

BY BAYARD TAYLOR. 

Air — The girls we left behind us. 

6t Give us a song !" the soldiers cried, 
The outer trenches guarding, 
When the heated gun of the camp allied 
Grew weary of bombarding. 

The dark Bedan, in silent scoff, 
Lay, grim and threatening, under, 

'And the tawny mouth of the Malakoff 
No longer belched its thunder. 

There was a pause. The guardman said 
" We storm the forts to-morrow ; 
Sing while we may, another day 
Will bring enough of sorrow." 

They lay along the battery's side, 
Below the smoking cannon — 

Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde, 
And from the banks of Shannon. 

They sang of love and not of fame — ■ 

Forgot was Britain's glory . 
Each heart recalled a different name, 

But all sang — '* Annie Laurie." 

Voice after voice caught up the song, 

Until its tender passion 
Hose like an anthem, rich and strong — 

Their battle eve confession. 



66 THE CAMP FIRE SONGSTER. 

Dear girl — her name he dared not speak- 
Yet, as the song grew louder, 

Something upon the soldier's cheek 
Washed off the stains of powder. 

Beyond the darkening ocean "burned 
The bloody sunsets embers, 

While the Crimean valleys learned 
How English love remembers. 

And Irish Nora's eyes are dim, 
For a singer, dumb and gory ! 

And English Mary mourns for him 
Who sang of " Annie Laurie.' ' 

Ah ! soldiers, to your honored rest 
Your truth and valor bearing : 

The bravest are the tenderest — 
The loving are the daring ! 



THE GALLANT ZOUAVES. 
Air— Nelly Bly. 

Zouaves sly, shut one eye 

When they go to sleep ; 
But where spies and traitoTS lurk, 

One eye they open keep. 

Hi, Zouaves ! ho, Zouaves ! don't be napping now, 
But, day or night, just for a fight, be ready anyhow I 

When they march they lift their feet, 
And then they set them down ; 

But when they fight there's music in 
That part of the town ! 

Hi, Zouaves I ho, Zouaves! &0. 



SHE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 07 

si nen they sing, their roaring voice 

So frightful is to hear, 
That, at the sound, from all around, 

The rebels cut and clear ! 

Hi, Zouaves ! ho, Zouaves ! &c, 

Beauregard is puffing hard 

To head off General Scott ; 
And Jeff he keeps his horse in reach 

To run before he's shot ! 

Hi, Zouaves ! ho, Zouaves ! &c. 

The F. F.'s shirk the dirty work — 

Before the fight begins 
They set a row of niggers up 

To save their own poor skins. 

Hi, Zouaves ! ho, Zouaves ! &c. 

Boys, hurrah ! we'll teach the law 

To Letcher and to Wise : 
Hemp and pine- wood for each scamp 
Who our flag defies. 
Hi, Zouaves ! ho, Zouaves ! three cheers for your cause ! 
Your arms keep bright, your hearts keep light — brave 
guardians of the laws ! 



PAT'S OPINION OF THE STAES AND STKIPES. 

BY JOHN F. POOLE 

Sung, with, great applause, "by Fred May. 
Air— Darling Ould Stick. 
I've got a new song for to sing ye's to night, 
It's intended to put the Blue Devils to flight ; 
That it's got a fine chorus to you will be shown, 
And the man that wont sing it can let it alone. 

It's of the blackguards our country that's ruinin'; 
The traitors all houlding communion ; 
A trying to bust up the Union 
And pull down the Stars and the Stripes. 



G8 THE CAMP-FIKE SONGSTER. 

Whin the rebils first hoisted their flag of seven Stars, 
With the bould Sixty-ninth I wint f to the wars ; 
Tho' the foes they were thick and ocir numbers but f€«* 
Faix, we made a charge on a masked battery or two 
Though we'd bate five to one on the livel, 
With a foe that would only act civil ; 
Now, I tell ye's we fought like the divil, 
Uphoulding the Stars and the Stripes. 

Then the bold Fire Zouaves — 'twas delightful to see 
How they cut up the famous BJack Horse cavalry ; 
And the foe got a taste, too, of ould Bunker Hill, 
For the brave Massachusetts boys fought with a will 

They wint in with a whoop and a shout, sirs ! 

For the Union /it was their cry out, sirs ! 

Oh ! the rebils found they were about, sirs, 
Upholding the Stars and the Stripes. 

Then at Port Royal, too, was the divil to pay, 
When they found Uncle Sam had his fleet on the say, 
And was coming to bate them like rats in a pit, 
And to show them no marcy, bad luck to the bit. 
For while they were trembling with fear, sirs, 
Their flag tumbled down 'bout their ears, sirs, 
While up went, with three hearty cheers, sirs, 
The beautiful Stars and the Stripes. 

We'll soon bate the blackguards afloat and ashore, 
And our flag o'er Fort Sumter be waving once more ; 
Now they'd better give in, for we'll soon gain the day, 
And Corcoran, too, we'll have back in the fray. 

Whin the Star-Spangled banner he raises ; 

bure, he'll capture ould Jefferson Davis ; 

And will wallop the rebels like blazes. 
An' will die with the Stars and the Stripes ! 



HAIL COLUMBIA. 
Hail, Columbia, happy land ! hail, ye heroes, heaven* 
born band. 
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 



THE CAMP UEB SONGSTER. 09 

And when the storm of war was gone, enjoyed the peace 

your valor won. 
Let independence be our boast, ever mindful what it cost ; 
Ever grateful for the prize, let its altar reach the skies. 

Chorus — Firm, united, let us be, rallying round our lib- 
erty ; 
As a band of brothers joined, peace and safety 
we shall rind. 

Immortal patriots, rise once more, defend your rights, 

defend your shore. 
Let no rude foe, with impious hand, 
Let no rude foe, with impious hand, 
Invade the shrine where sacred lies, of toil and blood, 

the well-earned prize. 
While offering peace sincere and just, in heaven we place 

a manly trust 
That truth and justice will prevail, and every shame of 

bondage fail. 

Sound, sound the trump of fame ! let Washington's 
great name 
Eing through the world with loud applause, 
King through the world with loud applause, 
Let every clime to Freedom dear, listen with a joyful ear. 
With equal skill and God-like power, he govern'din the 

fearful hour 
Of horrid war ! or guides, with ease, the happier times 
of honest peace. 

Behold the chief who now commands, again to serve his 

country stands — 
The rock on which the storm will beat, 
The rock on which the storm will beat, 
But armed in virtue firm and true, his hopes are fixed on 

Heaven and you. 
When hope was sinking in dismay, and gloom obscured 

Columbia's day, 
Bis steady mind, from changes free, resolved on death 

or liberty. 



70 THE CAMP-FIRE SONGSTER. 

LET COWARDS SHIRK THEIR DUTY. 
Air— The Low-Backed Car. 

Let cowards shirk their duty, 

And falter from the fray ; 
My post I'll find, nor shrink behind, 

When honor calls away. 
For Union and for Freedom , 

I'll wield a sword or gun, 
And take my stand, for laws and land r 

Till the battle's nobly won. 

Chorus. — For I follow the Stripes and Stars, 
No matter for wounds or scars, 

And I'll act my part, 
With my arm and heart, 

In defence of the Stripes and Stars. 

The truth is past denying, 

That danger's close at hand, 
And I do love, all things above, 

My own dear native land. 
So where the conflict rages, 

And where our foeman be, 
To stand or fall, at Union's call, 

There is the place for me. 
For I follow, &c. 

May God bless those who love me, 

And those I love defend ; 
If life I give, to those who live 

My dear ones I commend. 
But while the cannon's booming, 

And trumpets loudly blare, 
The Union's cause, the land and laws, 

Must be my only care. 
For I follow, &c. 




OLD^ 



THE SHAMROCK 



Tlie IToTrz—Xjea-veci Shamrock. 

[A four-leaved Shamrock Is of such rarity that it is supposed to indue the 
finder with magic power.] 

I'll seek a four-leaved shamrock in all the fairy dells, 
And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave 

my spells ! 
I would not waste my magic might on diamond, pearl, 

or gold, 
For treasure tires the weary sense— such triumph is 

but cold ; 
But I would play the enchanter's part in casting bliss 

around — 
Oh ! not a tear nor aching heart should in the world 

be found. 



To worth I would give honor! — I'd dry the mourner's 

tears, 
And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years ; 
And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends 

that had grown cold, 
Should meet again — like parted streams — and mingle 

as of old 1 
Oh! thus I'd play the enchanter's part, thus scatter 

bliss around, 
And not a tear nor aching heart should in the world 

be found ! 



6 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, 

The heart that had been mourning o'er vanish' d 

dreams of love 
Should see them all returning, like Noah's faithful 

dove, 
And Hope should launch her blessed bark on Sorrow's 

dark'ning sea, 
And Mis'ry's children have an Ark, and saved from 

sinking be ; 
Oh ! thus I'd play the enchanter's part, thus scatter 

bliss around, 
And not a tear nor aching heart should in the world 

be found. 



JMLy Heart's in Old Ireland. 

My bark on the billow dash'd gloriously on, 
And glad were the notes of the sailor-boy's song ; 
Yet sad was my bosom and bursting with woe, 
For my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go, 
Oh ! my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go. 

More dear than the flowers that Italy yields, 
Are the red-breasted daisies that spangle thy fields, 
The shamrock, the hawthorn, the white blossom sloe, 
For my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go, 
Oh! my heart's, &c. 

The shores tbey look lovely, yet cheerless and vain, 
Bloom the lillies of France, and the olives of Spain ; 
When I think of the fields where the wild daisies grow, 
Then my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go, 
Oh! my heart's, &c. 

The lillies and roses abandon the plains, 

Though the summer's gone by, still the shamrock 

remains, 
Like a friend hi misfortune it blossoms o'er the snow ; 
For my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go, 
Oh ! my heart's &c. 



SOSGS OY OLD IRELAND. 



I sigh and I vow, if e'er I get home, 
No more from my dear native cottage I'll roam ; 
The harp shall resound, and the goblet shall flow, 
For my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go, 
Oh! my heart's, &c. 



Tlie Green Bushes. 

I'll buy you new havers and fine silken gowns, 
I'll buy you new petticoats, flounced to the ground, 
If you will prove constant and loyal to me, 
And leave your own true love, and follow with me. 

I care not for havers or fine silken hose, 

For I am not so poor as to marry for clothes ; 

But if you prove constant and loyal to me, 

I will leave my own true love, and follow with thee. 

Oh ! let us be going, young man, if you please, 

Oh ! let us be going from under these trees, 

For my true love is coming — "Tis yonder, I see, 

Down by the green bushes where he thinks to meet me. 

And when that he found his true love she was flown, 
He stood, like a lambkin that blates, all alone ; 
For my true love is gone, and she's forsaken me, 
Adieu ! the green bushes, forever, says he. 



Tlie Olcl Country FsLjrty • 

BY HARRY M. PALMER. 
Air— Irishman's Shanty. 

Say, did ye iver go till an ould country party, 

Where the boys are so gay, and the girls dress so 

smartly, 
While around the turf fire the ould folks take their aise 
And a drop of the crater whiniver they please. 

Arrah, me jewel 1 oh ! Ireland's the country for me. 



8 THE SHAMEOCK \ OR, 

The first one I wint to, before I left home, 
Was give be me Uncie that lived at Athlone. 
He sint word for me to be there without fail, 
So I wint in the stage coach that carried the mail. 
Arrah, &c. 

Whin I opened the door, what a sight met my eyes: 
Hot bacon and praties, wid herrin and pies, 
While up on the closet, by way of a lunch, 
Was a five gallon bowl full of hot whisky punch. 
Arrah, &c. 

There was Dolan, the blacksmith, the cooper, McFail, 
Wid schoolmaster Casey, and Father O'Neal, 
0' Brian, the butcher, wid a great many more, 
And the MacEvoy brothers, who came from Bondore. 
Arrah, &c. 

Thin Biddy McGurn and the brothers O'Neal 
Stood up in the floor for a three handed reel. 
While, perched on the table, blind piper McGill 
Played a tune called "The Little House Under the 
Hill." 

Arrah, &c. 

"The Connaught Man's Rambles" the pipes thin did 

play, 
While ould folks and young kept dancing away ; 
But the music stopped short, for the bottle was dry, 
And under the table the piper did lie. 
Arrah, &c. 

Thin Biddy McClosky sung Kitty Asthore, 
And Pat MacEvoy giv us Rory O'More ; 
Wid the "Tail of me Coat " by my first cousin Tim, 
And " The Life and Adventures of Bryan O'Lynn." 
Arrah, &c. 

But now I'm away from the folks at Athlone, 
As well as me father and mother at home ; 
Be the Powers, the tears rushes into me eyes 
Whin I think of the whisky, the girls, and the pies. 
Arrah, &c. 



SONGS 01 OLD IRELAND. 



X^x-etty Maid Millsing* her Cow. 

It being on a fine summer's morning, 

As birds sweetly tuned on each bough, 
I heard a fair maid sing most charming, 

As she sat a milking her cow. 
Her voice was enchanting — melodious, 

Which left me scarce able to go ; 
My heart it was southed in solace, 

By the pretty maid milking her cow. 

With courtesy I did salute her : 
" Good-morrow, most amiable maid ; 
X am your captive slave for the future." 
" Kind sir, do not banter," she said ; 
11 I am not such a precious rare jewel, 

That I should enamour you so ; 
I am but a plain country girl," 

Said this pretty maid milking her cow. 

" The Indies afford no such jewel, 

So precious and transparent clear, 
Oh ! do not refuse to be my jewel, 

But consent, and love me, my dear ; 
Take pity, and grant my desire, 

And leave me no longer in woe ; 
Oh ! love me, or else I'll expire, 

Sweet colleen dhas cruthin amoe. 55 " 

u I don't understand what you mean, sir, 

I never was a slave yet to love ; 
These emotions I cannot experience, 

So. I pray, these affections remove ; 
To marry, I can assure you, 

That state I will not undergo, 
So, young man, I pray you will excise me," 

Said this pretty maid milking her cow. 

* Pretty maid milking her cow. 



10 TIIE SHAMROCK ; OR, 

' ' Had I the wealth of great Omar, 

Or all on the African shore ; 
Or had I great Devonshire's treasure, 

Or had I ten thousand times more, 
Or had I the lamp of Alladin, 

And had I his genius, also — 
I'd rather live poor on a mountain, 

With colleen dhas cruthin amoe." 

" I beg you, withdraw, and do not tease me, 

I cannot consent unto thee ; 
I prefer to live single and airy, 

Till more of the world I see ; 
New cares they would me embarrass — 

Beside, sir, my fortune is low : 
Until I get rich I'll not marry," 

Said the colleen dhas cruthin amoe. 

" A young maid is like a ship sailing, 

She don't know how long she may steer, 
For in every blast she is in danger, 

So consent, and love me, my dear. 
For riches I care not a farthing ; 

Your affections I want, and no more ; 
In wedlock I wish to bind you, 

Sweet colleen dhas cruthin amoe !" 



The Road or Life ; 

Or, Song of the Irish Post- Boy. 

Oh ! youth, happy youth ! what a blessing ! 

In thy freshness of dawn and of dew ; 
When hope the young heart is caressing, 

And our griefs are but light and but few ; 
Yet in life, as it swiftly flies o'er us, 

Some musing for sadness we find ; 
In youth — we've our troubles before us, 

In age — we leave pleasure behind. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 11 

Aye — Trouble s the post-boy that drives us 

Up hill, till we get to the top : 
While Joy's an old servant behind us 

We call on forever to stop ; 
Oh ! put on the drag, Joy, my jewel, 

As long as the sunset still glows ; 
Before it is dark 'twould be cruel 

To haste to the hill-foot's repose. 

But there stands an inn we must stop at, 

An extinguisher swings for the sign ; 
That house is but cold and but narrow — 

But the prospect beyond it's divine ! 
And there— whence there's never returning, 

When we travel — as travel we must — 
May the gates be all free for our journey! 

And the tears of our friends lay the dust ! 



The XTaij~y Boy. 

[When a beautiful child pines and dies, the Irish peasant believes the healthy 
infant has been stolen by the fairies, and a sickly elf left in its place.] 

A mother came when stars were paling, 

Wailing round a lonely spring ; 
Thus she cried, while tears were falling, 
Calling on the Fairy King : 
" Why with spells my child caressing, 
Courting him with fairy joy ; 
Why destroy a mother's blessing, 
Wherefore steal my baby boy ? 

" O'er the mountain, through the wild wood, 

Where his childhood loved to play ; 
Where the flowers are freshly springing, 

There I wander day by day. 
There I wander, growing fonder 

Of the child that made my joy 1 ; 
On the echoes wildly calling, 

To restore my fairy boy. 



12 THE SHAMilOCK ; OR, 

" But in vain my plaintive calling, 

Tears are falling all in vain ; 
He now sports with fairy pleasure, 

He's the treasure of their train. 
Fare thee well, my child, for ever, 

In this world I've lost my joy ; 
But, in the next, we ne'er shall sever, 

There I'll find my angel boy ! " 



I'd. Moixi-n tlxe Hopes. 

Air— The Rose Tree. 

I'd mourn the hopes that leave me, 
If thy smiles had left me too ; 

I'd weep when friends deceive me, 
Hadst thou been, like them, untrue. 

But while I've thee before me, 

With heart so warm, and eyes so bright, 
No clouds can linger o'er me, 

That smile turns them all to light. 

'Tis not in fate to harm me, 
While fate leaves thy love to me ; 

'Tis not in joy to charm me, 
Unless joy be shared with thee. 

One Minute's dream about thee 

Were worth a long and endless year 

Of waking bliss without thee, 
My own love, my only dear ! 

And though the hope be gone, love, 
That long sparkled o'er our way, 

Oh ! we shall journey on, love, 
More safely without its ray. 

lar better lights shall win me, 
Along the path I've yet to roam ; 

The mind that burns within me, 
And pure smiles from thee at home. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 13 

Thus, when the lamp that lighted 

The traveler, at first goes out, 
He feels a while benighted, 

And looks round in fear and doubt. 

But soon, the prospect clearing, 
By cloudless starlight on he treads, 

And thinks no lamp so cheering 
As that light which heaven sheds ! 



Tlie BXaelrt>ircl. 

Once on a morning of sweet recreation, 

I heard a fair lady a-making her moan, 
With sighing and sobbing, and sad lamentation, 

Aye, singing, " My Blackbird forever is flown ! 
He's all my heart's treasure, my joy, and my pleasure, 

So justly, my love, my heart follows thee ; 
And I am resolved, in foul or fair weather, 

To seek out my Blackbird, wherever he be. 

11 1 will go, a stranger to peril and danger, 

My heart is so loyal in every degree ; 
For he's constant and kind, courageous in mind : 

Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be ! 
In Scotland he's loved and dearly approved, 

In England a stranger he seemeth to be ; 
But his name I'll advance in Ireland or France, 

Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be. 

" The birds of the forest are all met together 

The turtle is chosen to dwell with the dove, 
And I am resolved, in foul or fair weather, 

Once in the spring-time to seek out my love. 
But since fickle Fortune, which still proves uncertain, 

Hath caused this parting between him and me, 
His right I'll proclaim, and who dares me blame? 

Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be." 



14 THE SHAMROCK ; OR 

Tine Wliite Cocliade. 

King Charles he is King James's son, 
And from a royal line is sprung ; 
Then up with shout, and out with blade, 
And we'll raise once more the white cockade 
! my dear, my fair-hair' d youth, 
Thou yet hast hearts of fire and truth ; 
Then up with shout, and out with blade — 
We'll raise once more the white cockade 

My young men's hearts are dark with woe ; 
On my virgin's cheeks the grief-drops flow ; 
The sun scarce lights the sorrowing day, 
Since our rightful prince went far away ; 
He's gone, the stranger hoJds his throne ; 
The royal bird far oft is flown : 
But up with shout, and out with blade — 
We'll stand or fall with the white cockade. 

No more the cuckoo hails the spring, 
The woods no more wfth the stanch-hounds ring; 
The song from the glen, so sweet before, 
Is hush'd since Charles has left our shore. 
The prince is gone : but he soon will come, 
With trumpet sound, and with beat of drum ; 
Then up with shout, and out with blade — 
Huzza for the right and the white cockade. 



Tlie Green Linnet:. 

Curiosity bore a young native of Erin, 

To view the gay banks of the Rhine, 
When an empress he saw, and the robe she was wearing 

All over with diamonds did shine ; 
A goddess in splendor was never yet seen, 
To equal this fair one so mild and serene, 
In soft murmur she says, My sweet linnet so green, 

Are you gone — will I never see you more ? 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 15 

The cold, lofty Alps you freely went over, 

Which nature had placed in your way, 
That Marengo, Saloney, around you did hover, 

And Paris did rejoice the next day. 
It grieves me the hardships you did undergo, 
Over mountains you traveled all covered with snow, 
The balance of power your courage laid low, 

Are you gone — will I never see you more ? 

The crowned heads of Europe when you were in 
splendor, 

Fain would they have you submit, 
But the goddess of Freedom soon bid them surrender, 

And lowered the standard to your wit ; 
Old Frederick's colors in France you did bring, 
Yet his offspring found shelter under your wing, 
That year in Virginia you sweetly did sing, 

Are you gone— will I never see you more ? 

That numbers of men are eager to slay you, 

Their malice you viewed with a smile, 
Their gold through all Europe they sowed to betray you, 

And they joined the Mamelukes on the Nile. 
Like ravens for blood their vile passions did burn, 
The orphans they slew, and caused the widows to 

mourn, 
They say my linnet's gone, and ne'er will return, 

Is he gone — will I never see him more ? 

"When the trumpet of war the grand blast was sounding, 

You marched to the north with good will, 
To relieve the poor slaves in their vile sack clothing, 

You used your exertion and skill. 
You spread out the wings of your envied train, 
While tyrants great Caesar's old nest set in flames, 
Their own subjects they caused to eat herbs on the plains, 
Are you gone — will I never see you more ? 

In great Waterloo, where numbers laid sprawling, 

In every field, high or low, 
Fame on her trumpets through Frenchmen was calling, 

Fresh laurels to place on her brow. 



16 THE SHAMBOCK J OR, 

Usurpers did tremble to hear the loud call, 
The third old Babe's new buildings did fall, 
The Spaniards their fleet in the harbor did call, 
Are you gone — will I never see you more. 

I'll roam through the desserts of wild Abyssinia, 

And yet find no cure for my pain, 
Will I go and inquire in the isle of St. Helena ? 

No, we will whisper in vain. 
Tell me, you critics, now tell me in time, 
The nation I will range my sweet linnet to find, 
Was he slain at Waterloo, or Elba on the Rhine ? 

If he was, I will never see him more. 



Xi~isli Tinker's Laixienr. 

[Words and music by Mr. W. J. Florence, and sung by him in hia great 
drama of " Uncle Mike's Cabin; or, The Gipsey's Warning." j 

Ted Rooney's my name, from Dublin I came, 

To make my fortune in this quarter ; 
With stove in my hand, I'm a tinker so grand, 

But I'm sorry I crassed o'er the water ! 

[Spoken.] Any tin Ware to mend ? 

I've been in each town, but there's none like my own, 
I've courted many a gintl email's daughter ; 

I've been offered the hand of the fair and the grand, 
Still I'm sorry I crassed o'er the water ! 
[Spoken.] Any tin ware to mend ? 

The fair girl at home, whom I left for to roam, 
Has been led like a lamb to the slaughter ; 

Ould Hogan she wed — she'd better be dead i 
Och ! I'm sorry I crassed o'er the water ! 
[Spoken.] Any tin ware to mend ? 

She was a fine girrul, every hair was a curl, 
That grew on the spot it had oughter ; 

Her cheeks were as red as the hair of her head- 
Faith, I'm sorry I crassed o'er the water ! 
[Spoken.] Any tin ware to mend ? 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 17 

Should I ever go home, ne'er again would I roarn, 
But would live like a true Irish sporter ; 

When ould Hogan was dead, his widow I'd wed, 
Aid keep on the right side of the water ! 
[Spoken. 1 Any tin ware to mend ? 



Norahj tlie I?i"I<le of Kildare. 

As beauteous as Flora is charming young Norah, 
The joy of my heart and the Pride of Kildare, 
I ne'er will deceive her, for sadly 'twould grieve her, 
To rind that I sighed for another less fair. 

chorus : 
Her heart with truth teeming, her eye with smiles 

beaming, 
What mortal could injure a blossom so fair, 
Oh, Norah, dear Norah, the Pride of Kildare. 

Where'er I may be, love, I'll ne'er forget thee, love | 
Though beauties may smile and try to ensnare, 
Yet nothing shall ever my heart from thine sever, 
Dear Norah, sweet Norah, the Pride of Kildare. 
Her heart, &c. 



Tlie Ji-isli Brigade O! 

Oh ! why should I sing of Roman or Greek, 

The boys w r e hear tell of in story ? 
Come, match me, for fighting, for frolic, or freak, 

An Irishman reigning in glory. 
There's Ajax and Hector, and bold Agamemnon, 

Were up to the tricks of our trade 0, 
But the rollickin' boys for war. women, and noise, 

Are the boys of the Irish Brigade 1 



18 THE SHAMROCK ; OR 

What for would I sing of Helen of Troy. 

Or the mischief that came of her flirting ? 
Sure, there's Biddy O'Flannigan, pride of ForrJy, 

Twice as much of an Helen, that's certain. 
Then for Venus, Minerva, or Queen Cleopatra, 

Bad luck to the word shall be said ! 
But the rollickin' boys for war, women, aad noise, 

Are the boys of the Irish Brigade ! 

What for would I sing ye of classical fun, 

Of games, boys, Olympic or Parthian.' 
And the Curragh's the course where the knowing 
ones done, 

And there's Mallow, that flogs for diversion. 
For fighting, for drinking, for females and all, 

No times like our times e'er were made ! 
For the rollickin' boys, for war, women, and noise, 

Are the boys of the Irish Brigade ! 



Savourneen I3eelisli. 

Ah ! the moment was sad when my love and I parted — 

Savourneen deelish Eileen oge !• 
As I kissed off her tears I was nigh broken-hearted — 

Savonrneen deelish Eileen oge ! 
Wan was her cheek which hung on my shoulder — 
Damp was her hand, no marble was colder, 
I felt that again I should never behold her. 

Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! 

When the word of command put our men into motion, 

Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! 
I buckled on my knapsack to cross the wide ocean, 

Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! 
Brisk were our troops, all roaring like thunder, 
Pleased with the voyage, impatient for plunder, 
My bosom with grief was almost torn asunder. 

Savourneen deelish Eileen o^e ! 



Darling dear Young Ellen. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 19 

Long I fought for m} T country, far. far from my true love, 
Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! 

All my pay and my bounty I hoarded for you, love 
Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! 

Peace was proclaimed — escaped from the slaughter, 

Landed at home, my sweet girl I sought her ; 

But sorrow, alas ! to the cold grave had brought her. 
Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! 



Tlxe LoTV-toaolceci Car. 

**The words and music of this Song, with Piano-forte accompaniment, are pub= 
lished by Wm.vHall & Son, New York,] 

When first I saw sweet Peggy, 

'Twas on a market day, 
A low -backed car she drove, and sat 

Upon a truss of hay ; 
But when that hay was blooming grass, 

And decked with flowers of Spring, 
No flow'r was there that could compare 

With the blooming girl I sing : 
As she sat in the low-backed car — ■ 
The man at the turnpike bar 

Never asked for the toll, 

But just rubbed his owld poll, 
And looked after the low-backed car. 

In battle's wild commotion, 

The proud and mighty Mars, 
With hostile scythes, demands his tithes 

Of death — in warlike cars ; 
While Peggy, peaceful goddess, 

Has darts in her bright eye. 
That knocked men down, in the market town 

As right and left they fly — 
While she sits in her low-backed car, 
Than battle more dangerous far — 

For the doctor's art 

Cannot cure the heart 
That is hit from that low-backed car 



20 THE SHAMROCK ; OH, 

Sweet Peggy, round her car, sir, 

Has strings of ducks and geese, 
But the scores of hearts she slaughters 

By far out-number 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 -backed car, 
The lovers come near and far, 

And envy the chicken 

Thet Peggy is pickin' , 
As she sits in the low -backed car. 

Oh ! I'd rather own that car, sir, 

With Peggy by my side, 
Than a coach-and-four and goold galore, 

And a lady for my bride ; 
For the lady would sit forninst me, 

On a cushion made with taste, 
While Peggy would sit beside me, 

With my arm around her waist — 
While we drove in the low-backed car, 
To be married by Father Mahar, 

Oh ! my heart w r ould beat high 

At her glance and her sigh — 
Though it beat in a low-backed car. 



Molly BawE. 

0, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, 

Or lonely waiting here for you — 
While the stars above are brightly shining, 

Because they have nothing else to do. 
The flowers late were open keeping, 

To try a rival blush with you, 
But their mother, Nature, kept them sleeping, 

With their rosy faces wash'd in dew. 
0, Molly, &c. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 21 

The pretty flowers were made to bloom, dear, 

And the pretty stars were made to shine ; 
The pretty girls were made for the boys, dear, 

And may be you were made for mine. 
The wicked watch-dog here is snarling — 

He takes me for a thief, d'ye see ? 
For he knows I'd steal you, Molly, darling, 

And then transported I should be. 
0, Molly. &c. 



Angels' TVTblsper. 

A baby was sleeping, 

Its mother w r as weeping, 
For her husband was far on the wide raging sea, 

And the tempest was swelling 

'Round the fisherman's dwelling, 
And she cried, " Dermont, darling, oh! come back 
to me !" 

Her beads while she number' d, 

The baby still slumber' d, , 

And smiled in her face as she bended her knee : 
" Oh ! bless'd be that warning, 

My child, thy sleep adorning, 
For I know that the angels are whispering to thee. 

"And while they are keeping 
Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, 
Oh ! pray to them softly, my baby, with me — 
And say thou wouldst rather 
They'd watch o'er thy father, 
For I know that the angels are whispering with 
thee." 

The dawn of the morning 

Saw Dermot returning, 
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see ; 

And closely caressing 

Her child, with a blessing, 
Said, ' ' I knew that the angels were whispering with 
thee." 



22 



the shamrock; or, 



Lament oftlie Ii^isli Eiiiig'iran.t;. 

I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, 

Where we sat side hy side, 
On a bright May morning long ago, 

When first you were my bride ; 
The corn was springing fresh and green, 

And the lark sang loud and high, 
And the red was on thy lip, Mary, 

And the love light in your eye. 

The place is little changed, Mary, 

The day is bright as then ; 
The lark's loud song is in my ear, 

And the corn is green again ! 
But I miss the soft clasp of your b ..id, 

And your breath warm on my cneek, 
And I still keep list'ning for the words 

You never more may speak. 

'Tis but a step down yonder lane, 

And the little church stands near — 
The church where we were wed, Mary, 

I see the spire from here ; 
But the graveyard lies between, Mary, 

And my step might break your rest, 
For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, 

With your baby on your breast. 

I'm very lonely now, Mary, 

For the poor make no new friends, 
But, ! they love thee better far, 

The few our father sends ; 
And you were all I had, Mary, 

My blessing and my pride ; 
There's nothing left to care for now, 

Since my poor Mary died. 

I'm bidding you a long farewell, 

My Mary, kind and true, 
But I'll not forget you, darling, 

In the land I'm going to ; 



SOXGS OF OLD IRELAND. 23 

They say there's bread and work for all, 

And the sun shines always there, 
But I'll not forget old Ireland, 

Were it fifty times as fair. 

And often in those grand old woods, 

I'll sit and shut my eyes, 
And my heart will travel back again, 

To the place where Mary lies ; 
And I'll think I see the little stile 

Where we sat side by side, 
And the springing corn, and bright May morn, 

When first you were my bride. 



Helg-Ix for tlie JPetticoat. 

Och ! a petticoat, honey, is an Irishman's joy, 

Go where he will, his time merrily passes ; 
Search the world over, sure Paddy's the boy, 

For banging the men and for kissing the lasses ; 
And if you but get a red coat to your back, 

In Russia, in Prussia, in France, or in Flanders, 
All the pretty ma'amselles have a mighty neat knack 

Of cocking their chins both at men and commanders. 
Then heigh for the petticoat, that is the joy, 

Go where I will my time merrily passes ; 
Search the workl over, sure Paddy's the boy, 

For banging the men, and for kissing the lasses. 

When sweet Kitty Conner pierced me clean through 
the heart, 

And chose Teddy Blarney, a big man of honor, 
One moonshiny night, to give ease to my smart, 

I kicked Mr. Blarney, and kissed Mrs. Conner. 
And the little plump god, for his mother knew what, 

Was the son of old Mars, or he'd never alarm ye ; 
And if he'd be growing as tall as he's fat, 

You'd see Mr. Cupid brought up to the army. 
Tnen heigh for the petticoat, &c. 



24 the shamrock; or, 

Tlxe 81ian "Van "Vogii. ° 

[A Ballad of 1798.] 

Oh ! the French are on the sea, 

Says the Shan Yan Vogh ; 
The French are on the sea, 

Says the Shan Van Vogh ; 
Oh ! the French are in the Bay, 
They'll be here without delay, 
And the Orange will decay, 
Says the Shan Van Vogh. 

Oh ! the French are in the Bay, 
They'll be here by break of day, 
And the Orange will decay, 
Says the Shan Van Vogh. 

And where will they have their camp ? 

Says the Shan Van Vogh ; 
Where will they have their camp ? 

Says the Shan Van Vogh : 
On the Curragh of Kildare, 
The boys they will be there, 
With their pikes in good repair, 
Says the Shan Van Vogh. 

To the Curragh of Kildare 
The boys they will repair, 
And Lord Edward will be there, 
Says the Shan Van Vogh. 

Then what will the yeomen do ? 

Says the Shan Van Vogh ; 
What will the yeomen do ? 

Says the Shan Van Vogh ; 
What should the yeomen do, 
But throw off the red and blue, 
And swear that they'll be true 

To the Shan Van Vogh ? 

What should, &c. 



• Properly spelt, An t-sean bhean bhochd, meaning The Poop Old Woman— ► 
another name for Ireland. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 21 

And what color will they wear ? 

Says the Shan Van Vogh ; 
What color will they wear ? 

Says the Shan Van Yogh ; 
What color should be seen 
Where our fathers' homes have been, 
But their own immortal Green ? 

Says the Shan Van Vogh. 

What color, &c. 

And will Ireland then be free ? 

Says the Shan Van Vogh ; 
Will Ireland then be free ? 

Says the Shan Van Vogh. 
Yes ! Ireland shall be free, 
From the centre to the sea ; 
Then hurra for Liberty ! 

Says the Shan Van Vogh. 

Yes ! Ireland, &c. 



[By permission of J. H. Hidley, Albany, N. Y., publisher and proprietor of the 
copyright. Sung by W. J. Florence, and always received with shouts of 
applause.] 

Oh ! blessings for ever on Aggie Asthore, 

She's good as she's lovely, and twenty times more. 

With her sparkling blue eyes an d her eloquent smile ; 

Och ! the hearts of the hardest 'tis she can beguile. 
Oh ! blessings on Erin's fair maid I adore, 
She's good as she's lovely, my Aggie Asthore. 

The first time we met 'twas at our village fair, 
And the prettiest girls of the country were there, 
But never did I see, either since or before, 
One fit to be named with my Aggie Asthore- -Aggie 
dear. 

Oh ! blessing on Erin's, &c. 



£6 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, 

I asked her to dance, and 'twas then with the pride 
I stood out on the floor, my sweet girl by my side ; 
But oh ! how I sighed when we gave up the floor, 
Shure my heart was clane gone to dear Aggie Asthofe 
— Aggie dear. 

Oh! blessing on Erin's, &c. 

My love it is faithful and honest and true, 

And much more than that, 'tis a winning love, too, 

For the day will come round, with the ring to the 

"fore," 
When for life she is mine, my dear Aggie Asthore — 

Aggie dear. 

Oh ! blessing on Erin's, &c. 



IPacldhr Oo^lilo^r, 

BY G. W. ANDERSON. 
Air— Billy Barlow. 

My darling, don't smile, while to you I do tell 
The very sad fate that to me has befell : 
I was crossing the street, to come here, ah ! oh ! 
And slap into the gutter went Paddy Goshlow. 
With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow, 
Slap into the gutter went Paddy Goshlow. 

I've a note which the President sent me, so fine ; 
He axed me quite dacent to go wid him and dine ; 
He said that the company ne'er could agree, 
Without the pleasure of my company. 
With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow, &c. 

I arrived at the house, and I looked mighty glum ; 
The President said, '•* Why, we thought you'd ne'er 

come." 
Says I, ' ; Me clothes are all torn, and that yez all 

know, 
And a bashful ould fellow is Paddy Goshlow." 

With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow, &c. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. Z/ 

I was next introduced to the company fair, 

Whin a lady stood by me, with such sweet auburn 

hair. 
She seized hold of my hand, and shook it just so, 
•' Let go, you ould divil," cried Paddy Goshlow. 

With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow. 

I left the company all in despair ; 
The women went crazy, and tore all their hair, 
They fell on their knees, and cried out oh ! oh ! 
' Don't leave the dear company, Paddy Goshlow." 
WitH me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow, &c. 

I. was on my way home, on a moonlighted night, 
Far away in the distance I saw a beautiful sight : 
A crowd of young spalpeens had collected, just so, 
To take a good peep at Paddy Goshlow. 
With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow, &c. 

I arrived at the house, and so as to be sure, 
I sat on a tub, just close by the dure ; 
I got asleep on the edge, and it's in I fell, oh ! 
And here's the drowned remains of poor Paddy 
Goshlow. 
With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow, 
Here's the drowned remains of poor Paddy 
Goshlow. 



Kitty Tyrrell. 

You're looking as fresh as the morn, darling, 

You're looking as bright as the day ; 
But while on your charms I'm dilating, 

You're stealing my poor heart away. 
But keep it and welcome, mavourneen, 

Its loss I'm not going to mourn ; 
Yet one heart's enough for a body, 

So pray give" me yours in return, 
Mavourneen, mavourneen, 
! pray give me yours in return. 



28 THE SHAMROCK J OB, 

I've built me a neat little cot, darling, 

I've pigs and potatoes in store ; 
I've twenty good pounds in the bank, love, 

And may be', a pound or two more. 
It's all very well to have riches, 

But I'm such a covetous elf, 
I can't help still sighing for something, 

And, darling, that something's yourself, 
Mavourneen, mavourneen, 
And that something you know, is yourself. 

You're smiling, and that's a good sign, darling, 

Say "yes," and you'll never repent, 
Or, if you would rather be silent, 

Your silenco I'll take for consent. 
That good natured dimple's a tell-tale, 

Now all that I have is your own ; 
This week you may be Kitty Tyrrell, 

Next week you'll be Mistress Malone, 
Mavourneen, mavourneen, 
You'll be my own Mistress Malone. 



I'm. Hi earring- OldL Ireland. 

I'm leaving old Ireland, 
The land of my heart, 
Oh ! bless me, dear mother, 

Before I depart ; 
I know you will miss me, 

I fear you will grieve, 
"When darkly between us 
The dark waters heave ; 
But heaven will watch o'er you 

And kindly befriend, 
And still your poor Kathleen 
From danger defend. 

I'm leaving old Ireland, 
The land of my heart, 
Oh ! bless me, dear mother 
Before I depart. 



SOXGS OF OLD IflfiLAXD. 29 

When far among strangers, 

I wairJer alone, 
My thoughts will be straying 

To days that are gone ; 
Asleep or awaking, 

I'll think of you still, 
And our turf-covered cabin, 

Beside the green hill ; 
The hour will be joy o as 

And welcome to me, 

Yv r hen after long absence 

My dear home I see. 

I'm leaving old Ireland, 
The land of my heart, 
Oh ! bless me, dear mother, 
Before I depart. 



Tlie Gray Mare. 

As I was a walking to Nottingham fair, 
A riding on horseback upon a gray mare, 
The mare it was black, but the divil a hair 
But what was all yaller, upon the grey mare. 

There was the King, the Queen, and a couple of more, 

A riding on horseback, a walking before ; 

The bells did ring and the people did stare, 

To see a coach and six horses drawn by a gray mare. 

It rained and it snowed, I stood out in the storm 
With my hat in my hand to keep my head warm ; 
The mare threw me into the ditch, but I mounted 

again, 
And on my tiptoes rode o'er the plain. 

I'll saddle the mare and to fishing I'll go, 
To fishing I'll go, whether or no ; 
If my wagon upsets and my fish it would spill, 
I'll sell the gray mare, I'll be d d if I will. 



80 THE SHAMHOCK J OR, 



Tiie Exile of" Erin, 

There came to the heach a poor exile of Erin, 
The dew on his robe was heavy and chill ; 

For his country he sighed, when, at twilight repairing. 
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. 

But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion. 

For it rose on his own native isle of the ocean, 

Where once, in the flow of his youthful emotion 
He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh. 

"Oh, sad is my fate," said the heart-broken strange*, 
" The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee, 
But I have no refuge from famine or danger, 

A home and a country remains not for me ! 
Ah ! never again, in the green shady bower, 
Where my forefather' s lived, shall I spend the sweet 

hours, 
Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers, 
And strike the sweet numbers of Erin go bragh ! 

" Oh, Erin, my country ! though sad and forsaken, 
In dreams I visit thy sea-beaten shore ; 
But alas ! in a far foreign land I awaken, 

And sigh for the friends that can meet m« no 
more ; 
And thou, cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace me 
In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chase me ? 
Ah ! never again shall my brothers embrace me ! 
They died to defend me, or live to deplore. 

'Where now is my cabin door, so fast by the wild- 
wood ? 
Sisters and sires did weep for its fall. 
Where is the mother that looked on my childhood ? 

And where is my bosom friend — dearer than all ? 
Ah ! my sad soul, long abandoned by pleasure ! 
Why did it doat on a fast fading treasure ? 
Tears, like the rain, may fall without measure, 
But rapture and beauty they cannot recall. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 31 

11 But yet all its fond recollection suppressing, 
One dying wish my fond bosom shall draw ; 
Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing, 

Land of my forefathers, Erin go bragh ! 
Buried and cold, when my heart stills its motion, 
Green be thy fields, sweetest isle in the ocean, 
And the harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion, 
1 Erin mavourneen ! sweet Erin go bragh !' " 



The Fine OldL Irdsii Gentleman. 

I'll sing you a dacent song, made by a Paddy's pate, 
Of a raal ould Irish gintleman, who had a fine estate, 
Whose mansion it w T as made of mud, with thatch and 

all complate, 
With a hole at top, through which the smoke so grace- 
fully did retrate, 
Hurrah ! for the ould Irish gintleman, the boy of the 
oulden time. 

His walls so cold, were cover' d with the devil a thing 

for show, 
Except an ould shillelah, which had knocked down 

many a foe, 
And there ould Barney sat at ease, without shoes or hose, 
And quaffed his noggin of poteen to warm his big red 
nose, 
Like a fine ould Irish gintleman, the boy of the oulden 
time. 

To Donnybrook his custom was to go to every fair, 
And though he'd seen a few score years, he still was 

young when there, 
And while the rich they feasted him, he still, among 

the poor 
Would sing, and dance, and hurl, and fight, and make 
the spalpeens roar, 
Like a real ould Irish -gintleman, the boy of the 
oulden time. 



&2 THE SUAMRGCK ; OR, 

But och mavrone! once at a row ould Barney got a 

knock, 
And one that kilt him, 'cause he couldn't get over the 

shock ; 
They laid him out so beautiful, and then set up a groan, 
Och! Barney, darlint, jewel dear, why did you die? 
och, hone ! 
Then they waked this Irish gintleman, the hoy of the 
oulden time. 

Though all things in their course must change, and 

seasons pass away, 

Yet Irish hearts of oulden time were just as at this day. 

Each Irish boy, he took a pride to prove himself a man, 

To serve a friend and bate a foe, it always was the plan 

Of a raal ould Irish gintleman, the boy of the oulden 

time. 



Tlie HajT£> tlxa/fc once tliro 5 
Tara's Halls. 

The harp that once thro' Tara's halls 

The soul of music shed, 
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, 

As if that soul were fled. 
So sleeps the pride of former days, 

So glory's thrill is o'er, 
And hearts that once beat high for praise, 

Now feel that pulse no more. 

No more to chiefs and ladies bright, 

The harp of Tara swells ; 
The chord alone, that breaks at night, 

Its tale of ruin tells. 
Thus freedom now but seldom wakes ; 

The only throb she gives, 
is when some heart indignant breaks. 

To show that still she lives. 



SCXNGS OF OLD IRELAND. 33 



■ Doran's Ass. 

One Paddy Doyle lived in Killarney ; 

He courted a girl named Biddy Tool. 
His tongue was tipped with a bit of blarney, 

The same to Paddy was a golden rule : 
Both day and dawn she was his colleen ; 

When to himself he'd often say : 
What need I care, when she's my drolleen, 

A coming to meet me on the way ? 
Whack fol de darral ido 
Whack fol de darral lal la. 

One heavenly night in last November, 

Paddy went out to meet his love ; 
What night it was I don't remember, 

But the moon shone brightly from above. 
That day the boy had got some liquor, 

Which made his spirits light and gay ; 
Arrah ! what' s the use in walking quicker, 

When I know she'll meet me on the way ! 
Whack fol de darral, &c. 

He tuned his pipes and fell a humming, 

As gently onward he did jog ; 
But fatigue and whisky overcame him, 

So Paddy lay down upon the sod. 
He was not long without a comrade, 

One that could kick up the hay ; 
For a big jackass soon smelt out Paddy, 

And lay down beside him on the way. 
Whack fol de darral, &c. 

As Pat lay there in gentle slumbers, 

Thinking of his Biddy dear, 
He dreamt of pleasures without numbers 

A coming on the ensuing year. 
He spread his arms out on the grass, 

His spirits felt so light and gay ; 
But- instead of Biddy, he gripped the ass, 

Roaring out : I have her anyway. 
Whack fol de darral, &c. 



34 THE SHAMROCK ; OR 

He hugged and smugged his hairy messer, 

And flung his hat to worldly care ; 
Says Pat : she's mine, and may heaven bless her, 

But oh ! be me soul, she's like a bear. 
He put his hands on the donkey's nose, 

With that the ass began to bray ; 
Pat jumped up, and roared out : 

Who sarved me in such a way ? 
Whack fol de darral, &c. 

Pat ran home as fast as he could, 

At railway speed, or as fast, I'm sure. 
He never stopped a leg or foot, 

Until he came to Biddy's door. 
By that time 'twas getting morning — 

Down on his knees he fell to pray, 
Crying : let me in, my Biddy darling, 

I'm kilt, I'm murdered on the way. 
Whack fol de darral, &c. 

He told her his story mighty civil, 

While she prepared a whisky glass — 
How he hugged and smugged the hairy divil. 

Go along, says she, 'twas Doran's ass. 
I know it was, my Biddy darling. 

They both got married the very next day, 
But he never got back his ould straw hat, 

That the jackass ate up on the way. 
Whack fol de darral, &c. 



The Wonderful Irishman. 

There was a lady lived at Leith, 

A lady very stylish, man, 
And yet in spite of her teeth. 

She fell in love with an Irishman — 
A nasty, ugly Irishman, 
A wild, tremendous Irishman — 
A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, ramping, 
roaring Irishman. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 3-5 

His face was no ways beautiful, 

For with sroall-pox 'twas scarred across, 
And the shoulders of the ugly dog 
Were almost double a yard across. 
the lump of an Irishman, 
The whiskey-devouring Irishman — 
The great he rogue, with his wonderful brogue, the 
fighting, rioting Irishman. 

One of his eyes was bottle-green, 

And the other was out, my dear, 
And the calves of his wicked-looking legs 
Were more than two feet across, my dear. 
the great big Irishman, 
The rattling, battling Irishman — 
The stamping, ramping, swaggering, staggering, lath- 
ering, swash of an Irishman. 

He took so much of Lundy foot 

That he used to snort and snuffle, O, 
And in shape and size the fellow's neck 
Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo. 
the horrible Irishman, 
The thundering, blundering Irishman — 
The slashing, dashing, smashing, lashing, thrashing, 
hashing Irishman. 

His name was a terrible name, indeed, 

Being Timothy Thady Mulligan ; 
And whenever he emptied his tumbler of punch, 
He'd not rest till he rilled it full again. 
Th' intoxicated Irishman — 
The boozing, bruizing Irishman — 
The whisky, frisky, rummy, grunimy, brandy, no- 
dandy Irishman. 

This was the lad the lady loved, 

Like all the girls of quality, 
And he broke the skulls of the men of Leith, 
Just by way of jollity ; 

the slathering Irishman, 
The barbarous, savage Irishman — 
The hearts of the maids, and the gentlemen's heads, 
were bothered, I'm sure, by this Irishman. 



36 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, 



Erin Is My Home. 

Oh ! I have roam'd in many lands, 

And many friends I've met ; 
Not one fair scene or kindly smile 

Can this fond heart forget ; 
But I'll confess that I'm content, 

No more I wish to roam ; 
Oh ! steer my bark to Erin's isle — 

For Erin is my home. 

Oh ! steer my bark, &c. 

If England were my place of birth, 

I'd love her tranquil shore ; 
But if Columbia were my home, 

Her freedom I'd adore. 
Though pleasant days in both I pass'd, 

I dream of days to come ; 
Oh ! steer my bark to Erin's isle — 

For Erin is my home. 

Oh 1 steer my bark, &c. 



3?ixx*ty Molly BrallngTiaxi. 

Ah ! then, Mam dear, did you ever hear of purty Molly 

Brail aghan ? 
Troth, dear, I've lost her, and I'll never be a man again. 
Not a spot on my hide will another summer tan again, 

Since Molly she has left me all alone for to die. 
The place where my heart was you might easy rowl a 

turnip in, 
It's the size Qf all Dublin, and from Dublin to the 

Devil's glin, 
If she chose to take another, sure she might have sent 

mine back agin, 
And not to leave me here all alone for to die. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. o7 

Mara, dear, I remember when the milking time was 

past and gone, 
We went into the meadows where she swore I was the 

only man 
That ever she could love — yet oh ! the base, the cruel 

one, 
After all that to leave me here alone for to die ! 
Mam. dear, I remember as we came home the rain began, 
I rowl'd her in my frize coat, tho' the divil a waistcoat I 

had on, 
And my shirt was rather tine-drawn ; yet oh ! the base 

and cruel one, 
After all that she's left me here alone for to die. 

I went and towld my tale to Father McDonnell, Mam, 
And thin I wint and ax'd advice of Counsellor O'Con* 

nell, Mam. 
He towld me promise-breaches had been ever since the 
world began, 
Now, I have only one pair, Mam, and they are cor- 
duroy I 
Arrah, what could he mean, Mam ? or wdiat w r ould you 

advise me to? 
Must my corduroys to Molly go ? in troth, I'm bother' d 

what to do. 
I can't afford to lose both my heart and my breeches too, 
Yefrwhat need I care, when I've only to die I 

Oh ! the left side of my carcass is as weak as water 

gruel, Mam — 
The divil a bit upon my bones since Molly's proved so 

cruel, Main, 
I wish i had a carbine, I'd go and fight a duel, Mam, 

Sure, it's better far to kill myself than stay here to die. 
I'm hot and detarmined as a live Salamander, Mam ! 
Won't you come to my wake, when I go my long mean- 
der, Mam ? 
Oh ! I'll feel myself as valiant as the famous Alexander, 
Mam, 
When I hear yez crying round me, " Arrah, why did 
you die ?" 

\ 



S8 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, 



Katlileeix Mavonrneen. 

Kathleen Mavourneen ! the gray dawn is breaking, 

The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill, 

The lark from her light wing the bright dew is shaking, 

Kathleen Mavourneen, what, slumb'ring still? 

Ah ! hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever? 

Oh ! hast thou forgotten this day we must part ? 

It may be for years, and it may be forever, 

Oh ! why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart ? 

It may be for years and it rnay be forever, 

Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen ? 

Kathleen Mavourneen ! awake from thy slumbers, 
The blue mountains glow in the sun's golden light, 
Ah ! where is the spell that once hung on my numbers, 
Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my night, 
Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my night, 

Mavourneen, Mavourneen, my sad tears are falling, 
To think that from Erin and thee I must part, 
It may be for years and it may be forever, 
Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart ? 
It may be for years, and it may be forever, 
Then why art thou silent, Kathleeu Mavourneen ? 



I've left Ballymornach a long way behind me, 

To better my fortune I've crossed the big sea ; 
But I'm sadly alone, not a creature to mind me, 

And faith I'm as wretched as wretched can be ; 
I think of the buttermilk, fresh as the daisy, 

The beautiful halls and the emerald plain, 
And, ah ! don't I oftentimes think myself crazy, 

About that black-eyed rogue, sweet Norah McShane. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 89 

I sigh for the turf -pile so cheerfully burning, 

When barefoot I trudged it from toiling afar. 
When I toss'd in the light the thirteen I'd been 
earning. 

And whistled the anthem of "Erin go bragh " 
In truth, I believe that I'm half broken-hearted, 

To my country and love I must get back again, 
For I've never been happy at all since I parted 

From sweet Ballymornach and Xorah McShane. 

Oh! there's something so sweet in the cot I was born 
in, 

Though the walls are but mud and the roof is but 
thatch ; 
How familiar the grunt of the pigs in the mornin', 

What music in lifting the rusty old latch. 
'Tis true I'd no money, bat then I'd no sorrow, 

My pockets w r ere light, but my head had no pain ; 
And if I but live till the sun shine to-morrow, 

I'll be oil to ould Ireland and Xorah McShane. 



Tlie Captain. 

[The music of this song is published by Oliver Dttson' & Co., Boston, by 
whose permission we use the words. Words and music by Mr. W". J. Flor- 
ence, written expressly for Mrs W. J. Floeexce, and first sung by her in 
all the principal cities of the United States, Great Britain, and Ireland.] 

As they marched through the town witn their banners 

so gay, 
I ran to the window to hear the band play ; 
I peeped through the blinds very cautiously then, 
Lest the neighbors should say I was looking at the 

men ; 
I heard the drums beat, and the music so sweet, 
But my eyes at the time had a much greater treat — 
The troops were the finest I ever did see, 
For the captain with his whisker took a sly glimpse at . 

me. 



40 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, 

When we met at the ball, I of course thought it right 
To pretend that we never had met before that night, 
But he knew me at once, I perceived by his glance, 
And I hung down my head when he asked me to dance. 
He sat by my side at the end of the set, 
And the sweet words he spoke I shall never forget. 
Yes, the troops were the finest I ever did see, 
For the captain with his whisker took a sly glimpse at 
me. 



33Ly Nick-naine is Barney. 

BY G. W. ANDERSON. 

Air— Flaming O'Flannagans. 

My nick-name is Barney — och, I'm the divil! 

For teasing the girls, shure, I'm never alone; 
For me and myself are always together, 

For plaguing the girls when I'm not at home. 
The girl that I had was a swate charmer, 

But nobody knew that she drank ; 
The devil couldn't make her marry me, 

Because I'd no money in the bank. 

chorus : 

Bum a-diddle, diddle whack ! 

For that was the way with Barney, the lover, 

Who would not be leaving the girls all alone, 
He took the pattern after his brother, 

For plaguing the girls when he was not at home. 

I gave her the sack, and got clear of the charmer, 

Divil the ha'p'orth I think of her now, 
Because I fell out with her beast of a mother, 

Who pitched me clean over the sow. 
The sow commenced grunting and .squealing, 

And the old lady ran to the door ; 
She gave me a good smack with the poker, 

Which laid me flat on the floor. 
Hum a-diddle, diddle, &o. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 41 

Thanks be to myself, it is now I am married, 

Poor Barney has never ]ed such a life ; 
For, bless me ! I'm always getting the divil 

Of a fine pounding from the hands of my wife. 
But, mark me, now, boys, and never get married, 

You always will lade a dreadful hard life ; 
But should you ever take hold of that notion, 

Take a fine girl, and make her your wife. 
Rum a-diddle, diddle, &c. 



The Patriot Motliex*. 

[A ballad of '98.] 

" Come, tell us the name of the rebelly c-ew 
Who lifted the pike on the Curragh whii yon ; 
Come, tell us their treason, and tnen you'll be free, 
Or by heavens, you shall swing from the high gallows 
tree." 

" Alanna ! alanna !• the shadow of shame 
Has never yet fallen upon one of your name, 
And, oh ! may the food from my bosom you drew, 
In your veins turn to poison, if you turn untrue. 

11 The foul words — oh! let them not blacken your 

tongue, 
That would prove to your friends and your country a 

wrong, 
Or the curse of a mother, so bitter and dread, 
With the wrath of the Lord — may they fall on your 

head! 

" I have no one but you in the whole world wide, . 
Yet, false to your pledge, you'd ne'er stand at my 

side ; 
If a traitor you liv'd, you'd be farther away 
From my heart than, if true, you were wrapp'din the 

clay. 

* Alaneacht signifies beauty. 



42 THE SHAMROCK ; OR 

1 ' Oh ! deeper and darker the mourning would be 
For your falsehood so base, than your death proud 

and free ; 
Dearer, far dearer than ever to me, 
My darling, you'll be on the brave gallows tree. 

" 'Tis holy, agra,- 4 with the bravest and best- 
Go, go, from my heart, and be joined with the rest ; 
Alanna ma chree ! 0, alanna ma chree ! f 
Sure a l stag ' J and a traitor you never will be." 

There's no look of a traitor upon the young brow 
That's raised to the tempters so haughtily now ; 
No traitor e'er held up the firm head so high — 
No traitor e'er show'd such a proud flashing eye. 

On the high gallows tree ! on the brave gallows tree ! 
Where smiled leaves and blossoms, his sad doom met 

he ; 
But it never bore blossoms so pure or so fair, 
As the heart of thq martyr that hangs from it there. 



Tlie !N"e^v Policeman. 

Air — Nora Creina. 

Oh ! good evening, gentlemen, to-day, 

Now list awhile to me and my blarney ; 
I am arrived from Dublin quay, 

Now, sure, my name is Michael Karney. 
Grub was scarce and luck was bad, 

Hunger's rumbling ne'er did cease, man, 
So to this city I came, egad, 
And Murphy's made me a new Policeman. 
Ranting, rollicking Irish joys, 

Always quarreling, ne'er at peace, man, 
Kissing the girls and licking the boys ; 
Oh ! that's the life of a new Foliceman. 

* My love, t Beauty of my heart. $ An informer. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 43 

Och ! there isn't yard or garden wall, 

About the city but I can scale it, 
And if any thing I find at all, 

Now shouldn't I a fool be not to nail it. 
Next .morning there's a hue and cry, 

There's something stolen and to be brief, man, 
Oh ! by the hookey, who but I, 

Am running about to catch the thief, man. 
Ranting, rollicking, &c. 

And then, you know, when I'm out at night, 

In every hole and corner peeping ; 
What's that I spy by the pale moonlight, 

Och ! by my soul,' 'tis a gentleman sleeping. 
His pockets I grope and his money I take, 

And then with my staff in the ribs I'm jobbing him, 
And if by chance the man should wake, 

I tell him I thought a thief was robbing him. 
• Ranting, rollicking, &c. 

Then if there isn't a row in the street, 

Sure, it's myself knows how to raise one, 
For I knock the first man down I meet, 

Then make a shindy fit to craze one. 
He resists, then loud he hollers — 

I lock him up and swear he's rioty ; 
Next morning he is fined two dollars, 

Just because myself couldn't murder him quietly. 
Ranting, rollicking, &c. 

I'm in with every servant maid, 

For mutton and love I've ever an itching, 
And of being caught I'm not afraid, 

For, sure, I'm there to guard the kitchen. 
And then, too, don't the Scriptures say, 

Multiply, too, and increase men, 
So if we only have our way, 

We'll fill the city with little policemen. 
Ranting, lollicking, &c. 



44 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, 



Och ! 3Yoi*ali Dear. 

Och ! Norah dear, I'm waiting here, 

I'm watching still fQr you, love ; 
And while you sleep, the flow' rets weep, 

All shrined in tears of dew, love. 
The silv'rv moon, its bright rays soon 

Bt-nind the hills will fade, love ; 
But better there her beauties bear, 

For thou her beams w T ould shade, love. 
Och ! Norah dear, &c. 

Och ! Norah dear ! I'm waiting here, 

The stars look cold and blue, love ; 
Their twinkling rays have come to gaze, 

To see how bright are you, love. 
The breeze that brings such balmy things 

From all that's bright and fair, love, 
It sighs to sip from thy -sweet Jip 

The perfume that lies there, love. 
Och ! Norah dear, &c. 



Ould Ireland ! You're M!y 
J>arlin'. 

Ould Ireland! you're my jewel, sure, 

My heart's delight and glory ; 
Till time shall pass his empty glass, 

Your name shall live in story. 
And this shall be the song for me, 

The first my heart was larnin', 
Before my tongue one accent sung, 

Ould Ireland ! you're my darlin'. 

My blessing's on each manly son 
Of thine who will stand by thee ; 

But hang the knave and dastard slave 
So base as to deny thee. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 45 

Then bould and free, while yet for me 

The globe is round us whirlin', 
My song shall be, Gra Galmachree, 

Ould Ireland ! you're my darlin' ! 

Sweet spot of earth that gave me birth, 

Deep in my soul I cherish, 
While life remains within these veins, 

A love that ne'er can perish. 
If it was a thing that I could sing, 

Like any thrush or starlin', 
In cage or tree, my song should be, 

Ould Ireland ! you're my darlin'. 



Hiibei^raia's Loyely Jean. 

When parting from the Scottish shore 

And the Highland's mossy banks, 
To Germany we all sail'd o'er, 

To join the hostile ranks ; 
At length in Ireland we arrived, 

After a long campaign, 
Where a bonny maid my heart betrayed — 

She's Hibernia's lovely Jean. 

Her cheeks were of the roseate hue, 

With the bright blinks of her e'en, 
Besparkling with the drops of dew, 

That spangle the meadows green. 
Jean Cameron ne'er was half so fair, 

No ! nor Jessy of Dumblane, 
No princess fine can her outshine — 

She's Hibernia's lovely Jean. 

This bonny lass of Irish braw, 

Was of a high degree, 
Her parents said a soldier's bride 

Their daughter ne'er should be. 



46 the shamrock; or, 

Overwhelmed with care, grief and despair, 

No hope does now remain, 
Since the nymph divine cannot be mine, 

She's Hibernia's lovely Jean. 

My tartan plaid I will forsake, 

My commission I'll resign, 
I'll make this bonny lass my bride, 

If the lassie will be mine ; 
Then in Ireland where the graces dwell, 

For ever I'll remain, 
And in Hyman's band join heart in hand. 

Wi' Hibernia's lovely Jean. 

Should war triumphant sound again, 

And call her sons to arms, 
Or Neptune waft me o'er the flood, 

Far from Jeannie's charms ; 
Should I be laid in honor's bed, 

By a ball or dart be slain, 
Death's pangs would cure the pains I bear 

For Hibernia's lovely Jean. 



Up lor ttie Green. 

[A song of the United Irishmen, 1796.] 
Air— Wearing of the Green. 

'Tis the green — oh ! the green is the color of the true, 
And we'll back it 'gainst the orange, and we'll raise it 

o'er the blue ! 
For the color of old Ireland alone should here be seen — 
'Tis the color of the martyr' d dead — our own immortal 
green. 
Jhen up for the green, boys, and up for the green ! 
Oh ! 'tis down to the dust, and a shame to be seen ; 
But we've hands — oh ! we've hands, boys, full strong 

enough, I ween, 
To rescue and to raise again our own immortal green! 



SOXGS OF OLD IRELAND. 47 

They may say they have power 'tis vain to oppose — 
'Tis better to obey and live, than surely die as foes ; 
But we scorn all their threats, boys, whatever they 

may mean ; 

For we trust in God above us, and we dearly love the 

green. 

So, we'll up for the green, and we'll up for the green! 

Oh! to die is far better than be curst as we have been ; 

And we've hearts — oh ! we've hearts, boys, full true 

enough. I ween. 
To rescue and to raise again our own immortal green! 

They may swear, as they often did, our wretchedness 

to cure ; 
But we'll never trust John Bull again, nor let his lies 

allure. 
No, we won't — no, we won't, Bull, for now nor ever 

more ! 
For we've hopes on the ocean, and we've trust on the 
shore. 
Then up for the green, boys, and up for the green ! 
Shout it back to the Sasanach, " We'll never sell the 

green ! " 
For our Tone is coming back, and with men enough, 

I ween, 
To rescue, and avenge us and our own immortal 
green. 

Oh, remember the days when their reign we did dis- 
turb, 
At Limerick and Thurles ; Blackwater and Benburb ; 
And ask this proud Saxou if our blows he did enjoy, 
When we met him on the battle-field of France — at 
Fontenoy. 
Then we'll up for the green, boys, and up for the 

green ! 
Oh, 'tis still in the dust, and a shame to be seen ; 
But we've hearts and we've hands, boys, full strong 

enough, I ween, 
To rescue and to raise again our own unsullied green! 



48 THE SHAMROCK J OR, 

Willy Heilly. 

•' Oh, rise up, Willy Eeilly, and come along with me, 
I mean for to go with you and leave this counterie, 
To leave my father's dwelling-house, his houses and 

free land ; ' ' 
And away goes Willy Reilly and his dear Colleen Bawn.** 

They go by hills and mountains, and by yon lonesome 

plain, 
Through shady groves and valleys all dangers to refrain ; 
But her father followed after with a well-arm' d band, 
And taken was poor Eeilly and his dear Colleen Bawn. 

It's home then she was taken, and in her closet bound, 
Poor Reilly all in Sligo jail lay on the stony ground, 
'Till at the bar of justice before the Judge he'd stand, 
Fox nothing but thVstealing of his dear Colleen Bawn. 

" Now, in the cold, cold iron, my hands and feet are 

bound, 
I'm handcuffed like a murderer, and tied unto the 

ground, 
But all the toil and slavery I'm willing for to stand, 
Still hoping to be succored by my dear Colleen Bawn." 

The jailor's son to Reilly goes, and thus to him did say, 
" Oh ! get up, Willy Reilly, you must appear this day, 
For great Squire Foillard's anger you never can with- 
stand, 
I'm afear'df you'll suffer sorely for your dear Colleen 
Bawn." 

Now Willy's drest from top to toe all in a suit of green, 
His hair hangs o'er his shoulders most glorious to be 

seen ; 
He's tall and straight and comely as any could be 

found, 
He's fit for Foillard's daughter, was she heiresss to a 

crown. 

• Fair young girl. t A.fraid. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 4iJ 

11 This is the news, young Keilly, last night that I did 

hear, 
The lady's oath will hang you, or else will set you 

clear ; ' ' 
"If that be so," says Keilly, "her pleasure I will 

stand, 
Still hoping to he succored by my dear Colleen Bawn." 

The Judge he said, "This lady being in her tender 

youth, 
If Keilly has deluded her, she will declare the truth ; " 
Then, like a moving beauty bright before him she did 

stand, 
" You're welcome there my heart's delight and dear 

Colleen Bawn." 

"Oh, gentlemen," Squire Foillard said, "with pity 

look on me, 
This villain came amongst us to disgrace our family ; 
And by his base contrivances this villainy was planned, 
If I don't get satisfaction I'll quit this Irish land." 

The lad} 1 - with a tear began, and thus replied she — 
"The fault is none of Reilly' s, the blame lies all on me; 
I forced him for to leave his place and come along with me, 
I loved him out of measure, which wrought our destiny." 

Out spoke the noble Fox,* at the table he stood by, 
" Oh ! gentlemen, consider on this extremity ; 
To hang a man for love is a murder you may see, 
So spare the life of Keilly, let him leave this counterie." 

" Good, my lord, he stole from her, her diamonds and 
her rings, 

Gold watch and silver buckles, aud many precious 
things, 

Which cost me in bright guineas more than five hun- 
dred pounds — 

I'll have the life of Keilly should I lose ten thousand 
pounds." 

* The prisoner's counsel- 



50 THE SHAMROCK | OR, 

" Good, my lord, I gave therri him as tokens of line 

love. 
And when we are a-parting I will them all remove, 
If you have got them, Reilly, pray send them home to 

me." 
" I will, my loving lady, with many thanks to thee." 

" There is a ring among them I allow yourself to wear, 
With thirty locket diamonds well set in silver fair, 
And as a true-love-token wear it on your right hand, 
That you'll think on my poor broken heart when you're 
in a foreign land." 

Then out spoke noble Fox, "you may let the prisoner go, 
The lady's oath has cleared him, as the jury all may 

know; 
She has released her own true love, she has renewed his 

name, 
May her honor bright gain high estate, and her offspring 

rise to fame ! ' ' 



Oolleen Bawn. 

'Twas on a bright morning in summer 

I first heard his voice spakin' low, 
As he said to a colleen beside me, 

Who's that purty girl milking her cow ? 
Oh ! many times afther ye met me, 

An' vowed that I always should be 
Your darlin' a cushla, alanna mavourneen, 

A suilish machree. 

I havn't the manners or graces 

Of the girls in the world where ye move, 
I havn't their beautiful faces, 

But oh ! I've a heart that can love; 
If it plaise ye, I'll dress me in satin, 

An' jewels I'll put on my brow, 
But oh ! don't be afther forgettin' 

Your purty girl milking her cow. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 61 



Molly, .A-stlxore. 

As down by Banna's banks I strayed, one evening in 

May, 
The little birds in blythest notes made vocal every spray, 
They 'sung their little notes of love, they sung them 

o'er and o'er — 
Ah ! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. 

The daisy pied and all the sweets the dawn of Nature 

yields, 
The primrose pale, the violet blue, lay scattered o'er 

the fields, 
Such fragrance in the bosom lies of her whom I adore, 
Ah ! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. 

I laid me down upon a bank, bewailing my sad fate, 
That doomed me thus a slave to love, and cruel Molly's 

hate ; 
How can she break the honest heart that wears her in 

its core, 
Ah! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. 

You said you loved me, Molly, dear— ah ! why did I be- 
lieve ? 

Yet who could think such tender words were meant but 
to deceive, 

That love was all I asked on earth — nay ! heaven could 
give no more. 

Ah ! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. 

Oh ! had I all the flocks that graze on yonder yellow 

hill, 
Or lowed for me the numerous herds that yon green 

pasture fill, 
With her I love I'd gladly share my kine and fleecy 

store, 
Ah ! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. 



52 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, 

Two turtle-doves above my head, sat courting on a 

bough, 
I envied them their happiness to see them bill and coo, 
Such fondness once for me was shown, but now, alas ! 

'tis o'er, 
Ah ! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. 

Then fare thee well, my Molly dear, thy loss I e'er shall 

mourn, 
Whilst life remains in Stephen's neart 'twill beat for 

thee alone, 
Though thou art false, may heaven on thee its choicest 

blessings pour, 
Ah ! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. 



Tlxe Dear Iz-isli JESoy. 

My Connor's cheeks are as ruddy as morn, 
The brightest of pearls but mimic his teeth, 
While nature with ringlets his mild brow adorn, 
His hair's Cupid's bow-strings, and roses his breath. 



Smiling, beguiling, cheering, endearing, 

Together oft o'er the mountain we've strayed, 

By each other delighted, and fondly united, 
I've listened all day to my dear Irish boy. 

No roebuck more swifter can flee o'er the mountain, 
No Briton bolder 'midst danger or scar ; 
He's sightly, he's lightly, he's as clear as the fountain, 
His eye's twinkling love, and he's gone to the war. 
Smiling, &c. 

The soft tuning lark it's notes shall cease to mourning. 
The dull screaming owl shall cease its night sleep ; 
While seeking lone walks iu the shades of the evening, 
If my Connor return not, I'll ne'er cease to weep. 
Smiling, &c. 



SOXGS OF OLD IRELAND. 53 

The war is all over, and my love is not returning ; 
I fear that some envious plot has been laid, 
Or some cruel goddess has him captivated ; 
And left me to mourn here, a dear Irish maid. 
Smiling, &c. 



Terence's Farewell to Kath- 
leen. 

So, my Kathleen, you're going to leave me, 

All alone by myself in this place ; 
But I'm sure you will never deceive me — 

Oh, no, if there is truth in that face. 
Though England's a beautiful city, 

Full of illigant boj^s — oh, what then ? 
You wouldn't forget your poor Terence — 

You'll come back to old Ireland again ! 

It's a folly to keep you from going, 

Though, faith, it's a mighty hard case — 
For, Kathleen, you know there's no knowing 

When next I shall see your sweet face. 
And when you come back to me, Kathleen, 

None the better will I be off then ; 
You'll be speaking such beautiful English, 

Sure I won't know my Kathleen again. 

Ah, now, where the need of this hurry? 

Don't nutter me so in this way ; 
I forgot, 'twixt grief and the flurry, 

Every word I was maning to say. 
Now just wait a minute, I bid you — 

Can I talk, if you bother me so? 
Kathleen, my blessings go with you, 

E'ery inch of the way that you gol 



64 THE SHAMROCK J OR, 



Ma ^JLlieeia, A-stliox-e. 

When waking with the rosy day, 

From golden dreams of thee, 
I watch the orient sunbeams play, 

Along the purple sea ; 
Oh ! then I could not choose but weep, 

As thou were mine no more, 
Ah ! gramachree, ma colleen oge, 

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 wwds, to me so sweet, 

I breath them o'er and o'er, 
Ah ! gramachree, ma colleen oge, 

Ma Ailleen, Asthore ! 

But soon they'll lay me in the grave, 

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 ! gramachree, ma colleen oge, 

Ma Ailleen, Asthore ! 



The Lass o 9 Gowrie. 

'Twas on a simmer's afternoon, 
A wee before the sun gaed down, 
My lassie wi' a braw new gown, 

Came o'er the hill to Gowrie. 
The rosebud ting'd wi' morning show'rs, 
Bloom" d fresh within the sunnie bow'rs, 
But Kitty was the fairest flow'r. 

That ever bloom' d in Gowrie. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 65 

I had nae thought to do her wrang, 
But round her waist my arms I Hang, 
And said my lassie will ye gang, 

To view the Carse o' Gowrie ? 
I'll take ye to my fathers ha', 
In you green field beside the shaw 
And make you lady o' them a', 

The bra west wife in Gowrie. 

Soft kisses on her lips I laid, 

The blush upon her cheek soon spread, 

She whisper' d modestly, and said, 

"I'll gang wi' you to Gowrie." 
The auldfolk soon gi'ecl their consent 
And to Mess John we quickly went, 
Who tied us to our hearts content, 

And now she's Lady Gowrie. 



Tlie Irlsli «Xaw.ntiii§£ Car. 

My name is Larry Doolan, I'm a native of the soil, 

If you want a day's diversion, I'll drive ybu out in 

style, 
My car is painted red and green, and on the door a 

star, 
And the pride of Dublin City is my Irish jaunting car. 

CHORUS. 

Then, if you want to hire me, step into Mickey 

Mar's, 
And ask for Larry Doolan and his Irish jaunting 

cars. 

When Queen Yictoria came to Ireland her health to 

revive, 
She asked the Lord Lieutenant to take her out to ride ; 
She replied unto his greatness, before they traveled 

far, 
How delightful was the jogging of the Irish jaunting 

car. 



56 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, 

I'm hired by drunken men, te total ers, and my friends, 
But a carman has so much to do, his duty never ends ; 
Night and day, both wet and dry, I travel near and 

far, 
And at night I count the earnings of my Irish jaunting 

car. 

Some say the Eussian bear is tough, and I believe it's 

true, 
Though we beat them at the Alma and BalaMava, too, 
But if our Coimaught Bangers would bring home the 

Russian Czar, 
I would drive them on° to blazes in my Irish jaunting 

car. 

Some say all wars are over, I hope to God they are, 
For you know full well they never were good for a 

jaunting car, 
But peace and plenty — may they reign here, both near 

and far, 
Then we'll drive to feasts and festivals in an Irish 

jaunting car. 

They say they are in want of men, the French and Eng- 
lish, too, 

And it's all about their commerce now they don't know 
what to do, 

But if they come to Ireland our jolly sons to mar, 

I'll drive them to the devil in my Irish jaunting car. 



Tlxe Blarney. 

Air— Kate Kearney. 

Oh ! did you ne'r hear of the Blarney, 
That's found near the banks of Killarney ? 

Believe it from me, 

No girls heart is free, 
Once she hears the sweet sound of the Blarney. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 57 

For the Blarney's so great a desaiver, 

That a girl thinks your there — tho' you leave her, 

And never finds out 

All the tricks you're about, 
Till she's quite gone herself, with your Blarney. 

Oh ! say, would you find this same Blarney, 
There's a castle, not far from Killarney, 

Ou the top of the wall — 

But take care you don't fall, 
There's a stcfcie that contains all this Blarney. 

Like a magnet, its influence such is, 
That attraction it gives all it touches, 

If you kiss it, they say, 

That from that blessed day, 
You may kiss whom you plaze, with your Blarney. 



Green Grow tlie Rn.sl1.eS5 O! 

There's naught but care on every han', 

In every hour that passes, ! 
What signifies the life o' man, 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, ? 
Green grow the rushes, ! 
Green giow the rushes, ! 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent 
Are spent among the lasses, ! 

The warly race may riches chase, 
An' riches still may fly them, ! 

An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, ! 
Green grow the rushes, &c. 

Give me a cannie hour at e'en, 

My arms about my dearie, ! 
Then warly cares and warly men 

May a' gae tapsalteerie, ! 

Green grow the rushes, &c. 



68 THE SHAMROCK ; OR 

For you sae douse ! ye sneer at this, 
Ye'er naught but senseless asses, ! 

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, 
He dearly loved the lasses, ! 

Green grow the rushes. &c. 

Auld nature swears, the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, ! 

Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, 
And then she made the lasses, ! 
Green grow the rushes, &c. 



Sei*grea,ixt McFadgin. 

[By permission of Thomas Dunn English, Esq.] 
Air— The Flaming O'Flannigans. 

"Whin I was a nate little bit of posterity, 

Bunnin' about with my head full of fun, 
Some one exclaimed with a touch of austerity — 

" Who in the devil's that son of a gun ? " 
He saw there was fight in my eye, the rapscallion ! 

Picking me out from the other gossoons ; 
And that one day I'd be with my talents set value on, 
Orderly sergeant of Heavy Dragoons. 

Och ! gay is the life of a righting Amerykin, 

Having no atin' to pay for, nor rint ; 
In battle, he rides to the fight like a harrykin, 
And when it's over sits down in his tint. 

When grown, I got married, and that's an apprenticeship 

Makes a man master of war anyway ; 
I soon left my colors, and fortune it sent a ship 

All for to carry me over the say. 
Five years I was here when they made me a citizen ; 

But wanting stripes to myowld pantaloons, 
And having ambition, which wasn't a bit of sin, 

Listed, I did, in the Heavy Dragoons. 
Och ! gay is the life, &c. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 59 

Talk of your Saizars, Napoleons and Hannibals- 

Galyant commanders of fame and renown — 
kv they were figh tin' with Brigham Young's Cannibals, 

Wouldn't the pride of their glory come down ? 
3ellony herself, who of figh tin' the goddess is, 

Not being up to the tricks of the coons, 
Laving the haroes of Iliads and Odysseys, 

Has to depind on the Heavy Dragoons. 
Och ! gay is the life, &c. 

Now I am out where of grass is no scarcity, 

But there's a plentiful lacking of trees ; 
And I obsarve to my friends in adversity, 

Carry light hearts and be lively as fleas, 
As for you Mormons, here comes Uncle Samuel, 

Marching his men to the livliest tunes ; 
Sure every sowjer is ready to lam you well — 

Led to the fight by the Heavy Dragoons. 
Och ! gay is the life, &c. 



Barnaby Finegan. 

I'm a decent gay laboring youth, 

I was reared in the town of Dunshaughlin, 
I'm a widower now in Maynooth, 

Since I buried sweet Molly M'Loughlin ; 
I married but once in my life, 

But I'll never commit such a sin again ; 
I discovered when she was my wife, 

She was fond of one Bai 'iaby Finegan. 

His father had cabins of mud 

That I often went to admire — 
They were built at the time of the flood, 

To keep all his ancestors drier. 
When he found I had Molly bespoke, 

He was getting quite fat, but got thin again, 
In the struggle his gizzard he broke, 

And we'd a stiff of Poor Barnaby Finegan. 



60 THE SHAMROCK \ OU, 

His corpse for convenience was put 

Among all his friends in the barn, sir, 
Some traveled there upon foot, 

While others came mounted on garrons, sir ; 
My wife for his loss cried and sobbed, 

Though I put her out twice she got in again, 
But I gave her a boult in the gob, 

For which I was soon attacked by the Finegans \ 

The bed and the corpse was upset — 

The fighting commenced in a minute, sure, 
Devil a stick could they get, 

Till they broke all the legs of the furniture. 
In showers the blood flew about, 

Eyes were knocked out and shoved in again, 
But I got a sowestering clout, 

That spilled me a top of poor Finegan. 
• 
How long I was dead I don't know — 

I couldn't believe I was living, sir — 
I roused with the pain in my toes, 

For they had them both tied with a ribbon, sir ; 
I opened my mouth for to speak, 

But the sheets was put up to my chin again ; 
Molly roars out, " you know you're awake, 

You'll be tried with Barnaby Finegan." 

'* You lump of deception," I cried — 

And I thought to bounce up to knock her about, 
By course as my two toes were tied, 

I was as fast as a spoon in thick stirabout ; 
I soon got the use of my toes, 

By a friend of the corpse, Larry Gilligan, 
He helped me to leap into clothes, 

To go spread a grass quilt over Finegan. 

My she devil came on the spree, 

Full of whisky and grief from the berrin', 

She showed as much mercy to me, 
As a hungry man shows to a herring ; 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 61 

But one belly-go-fister I gave 

Her, that caused her to cry and to grin again, 
In three months I opened the grave, 

And threw her on the bones with poor Finegan. 

Now that I'm single again, 

I spend my time raking and battering, 
I go to the fair with the men, 

And I dance with the maids at the patthern, 
Then they think I am stuck to a T — 

They'll get shy, drop the talk, and begin again, 
But they shan't come the huckle at me, 

Foi they might be acquainted with Finegan. 



I'm not Myself at All. 

Oh ! I am not myself at all, Molly dear, Molly dear, 

I am not myself at all, 
Nothing caring, nothing knowing, tis after you I'm going 
Faith your shadow tis I'm growing, Molly dear, Molly 
dear, 
And I'm not myself at all. 
Th' other day I went conf essin' , and I asked the fath- 
er' s blessin' 
* But says I, " don't give me one entirely, 
For I fretted so last year, but the half o' me is here, 
So give the other half to Molly Brierly ; 
Oh ! I'm not myself at all." 

Oh ! I'm not myself at all, Molly dear, Molly dear, 

My appetite's so small, 
I once could pick a goose, but my buttons is no use, 
Faith my tightest coat is loose, Molly dear, Molly dear, 

And I'm not myself at all. 
If thus it is I waste, you'd better, dear, make haste, 
Before your lover's gone away entirely, 

If you don't soon change your mind, 

Not a bit o' me you'll find, 
And what 'ud you think o' that, Molly Brierly? 

Oh I I'm not myself at all. 



62 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, 

Oh ! my shadow on the wall. Molly dear, Molly dear, 

Is'nt like myself at all. 
For I've got so very thin, myself says 'tis'nt him, 
But that purty girl so slim, Molly dear, Molly dear, 

And I'm not myself at all. 
If thus I smaller grow, all fretting, dear, for you, 
'Tis you should make me up the deficiency, 

So just let Father Taaf 

Make you my better half, 
And you will not the worse for the addition be ; 

Oh ! I'm not myself at all. 

I'll be not myself at all, Molly dear, Molly dear, 

'Till you my own I call ; 
Since a change o'er me there came, sure you might 

change your name, 
And 'twould just come to the same, Molly dear, Molly 
dear, 
Oh ! 'twould just come to the same ; 
For if you and I were one, all confusion would begone, 
And 'twould simplify the mather entirely, 
And 'twould save us so much bother, 
When we'd both be one another, 
So listen now to ray son Molly Brierly; 
Oh ! I'm not myself at all. 



Darling Old Stick. 

My name is Morgan McCarthy, from Tiim I 
My relations are all dead except one, brother Jim — 
And he's now gone soulgering to Cape Hull, 
And I expect he's laid low with a nick in his skull! 

chorus : 

Let him be dead or alivin', 
A prayer for his soul shall be given, 
That he shall be sent home or to heaven, 
. For he left me this Darling Old Stick ! 



SONGS 01 OLD IRELAND. 63 

If this stick it could spake, it would tell you some tales, 
And batter the countenances of the O'Nales ! 
It has caused bits o' skull to fly up in the air ; 
It was the promotion of fun at every fair. 
The last time I used it 'twas on Patrick's Day, 
Larry Fagan and I j umped into a shay ; • 

We went to a fair at the side of Athloy, 
Where we danced, and when done, kissed Kate Mc- 
Alvoy ! 
And her sweetheart went out for her cousin ; 
By the powers he brought in a dozen. 
What a daldum they'd have knocked us in, 
If I hadn't 'ave had this Darling Old Stick ! 

War ! was the word when a faction came in, 
For they pummeled me well — they stripped off to the 
skin ! 
Like a rector I stood, watching the attack, 
And the first one came up I knocked on his back ! 
Then I poked out the eye of Pat Glancy, 
For he once humbugged my sister Nancy ! 
In the meantime Miss Kate took a fancy 
To me and my innocent Stick ! 

I smathered her sweetheart until he was black, 
Kate tipped me the wink, we were off in a thwack ! 
We went to a house at the end of the town, 
Where we kept up our spirits by pouring some down. 
When the whiskey began for to warm her, 
I got her snug up in a corner ; 
She said her sweetheart would inform on her ! 
'Twas there I said praise to my Stick ! 

Kate she drank whiskey to such a degree 
That for her support she had to lean upon me ; 
I said I would see her safe to her abode, 
'Twas there we fell in the middle of the road. 
Until roused by the magistrate's orders, 
Devil a toe could we go farther, 
Surrounded by police for murder, 
Was myself and my innocent Stick, 



64 the Shamrock ; or, 

When I was acquitted I jumped from the dock, 
An' all the gay fellows around me did flock, 

They gave ine a sore arm they shook my hand so often, 
It was only for fear of seeing my own coffin I 
I went and I bought a gold ring, sirs, 
Miss jtate to the Priest I did bring, sirs — 
That night we did joyfully sing, sirs, 
The adventures of myself and my Stick ! 



Erin g*o Bragh. 

Green were the fields where my forefathers dwelt, 
Oh ! Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh. 
Tho' our farm it was small, yet comfort we felt, 
Oh ! Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh ! 
At length came the day when our lease did expire, 
And fain would I live where before lived my sire, 
But ah, well-a-day, I was forced to retire ; 
Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh. 

Though all taxes I paid, yet no vote could I pass, oh ! 
Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh ! 
Aggrandized no great man, and I felt it, alas ! oh ! 
Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh ! 
Forced from my home, yea, where I was born, 
To range the wide world, poor, helpless, forlorn ; 
I look back with regret, and my heart-strings are torn, 
Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh ! 

With principles pure, patriotic, and firm, 

Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh ! 

Attach' d to my country, a friend to reform, 

Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go biagh ! 

I supported old Ireland, was ready to die for it, 

If her foes e'er prevailed, I was well known to sigh 

for it ; 
By my faith I preserved, and am now forced to fly 

for it ; 
Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh ! 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 66 



He Tells me He Loves Me. 

He tells me he loves me, and can I believe, 
The heart he has won he would wish to deceive ; 
For ever and always his sweet words to me 
Are aileen, mavorneen, a cushla macree. 

Last night when we parted, his gentle good-bye, 
A thousand times said, and each time with a sigh ; 
And still the same sweet words he whispers to me, 
My aileen, mavourneen, a cushla macree. 

The friend of my childhood, the hope of my youth, 
Whose heart is all pure, whose words are all truth ; 
Oh ! still the same words he whispers to me 
Are aileen, mavourneen, a cushla macree. 

Oh ! when will the day come, the dear happy day, 
That a maiden may hear all a lover can say, 
And he speaks out the words he now whispers to me, 
My aileen, mavourneen, a cushla macree. 



Limeriolt Races. 

I'm a simple Irish lad, I've resolved to see some fun, 
sirs, 
So, to satisfy my mind, to Limerick town I come, sirs; 
Oh, murcher ! what a precious place, and what acharm- 
ing city, 
Where the boys are all so free, and the girls are all 
so pretty. 

Musha rin^ a ding a da, 

Bi too ral laddy Oh ! 

Musha ring a ding a da, 

Bi too ral laddy Oh ! 

It was on the first of May, when I began my rambles, 
When everything was there, both jauntiug cars and 
gambols ; 



66 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, 

I looked along the road, what was lined with smiling 
faces, 
All driving off, ding-dong, to go and see the races. 
Musha ring a ding a da, &c. 

So then I was resolved to go and see the race, sirs, 

And on a coach and four I neatly took my place, sirs, 
When a chap bawls out, "behind i " and the coachman 
dealt a blow, sirs — 
Faith, he hit me just as fair as if his eyes were in his 
poll, sirs. 

Musha ring a ding a da, &c. 

So then I had to walk, and make no great delay, sirs, 
Until' I reached the course, where everything was 
gay, sirs ; 
It's then I spied a wooden house, and in the upper 
story, 
The hand struck up a tune, called " Grarry Owen and 
glory." 

Musha ring a ding a da, &c. 

T.ere was fiddlers playing jigs, there was lads and 
lasses dancing, 
And chaps upon their nags, round the course sure 
they were prancing, 
Some was drinking whisky-punch, while others bawl'd 
out gaily, 
"Hurrah then for the shamrock green, and the 
splinter of shillelagh. 

Musha ring a ding a da, &c. 

There was betters to and fro, to see who would win the 
race, sirs, 
And one of the sporting chaps of course came up to 
me, sirs ; 
Says he, "I'll bet you fifty pounds, and I'll put it down 
this minute," 
" Ah, then, ten to one," says I, " the foremost horse 
will win it. ' ' 

Musha ring a ding a da, &c. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 07 

When the players came to town, and a funny set was 
they, 
I paid my two thirteens to go and see the play, 
They acted kings and cobblers, queens, and everything 
so gaily, 
But I found myself at home when they struck up 
" Paddy Carey." 

Musha ring a ding a da, &c. 



Teddy O'Neal. 

I've come to the cabin he danced his wild jigs in, 

As neat a mud palace as ever was seen ; 

And, consid'ring it served to keep poultry and pigs in, 

I'm sure it was always most elegant clean. 

But now all about it seems lonely and dreary, 

All sad and all silent, no piper, no reel ; 

Not even the sun, through the casement, is cheery, 

Since I miss the dear darling boy, Teddy O'Neale. 

I dreamt but last night — oh ! bad luck to my dreaming, 

I'd die if I thought 'twould come truly to pass — 

But I dreamt, while tears down my pillow were 

streaming, 
That Teddy was courting another fair lass ; 
Oh ! didn't I wake with a weeping and wailing, 
The grief of that thought was too deep to conceal ; 
My mother cried — " Norah, child, what is your ailing ?" 
And all I could utter was — "Teddy 0*Neale." 

Shall I never forget when the big ship was ready, 
And the moment was come when my love must depart ; 
How I sobb'd, like a spalpeen, "Good bye to yo*\ 

Teddy," 
With drops on my cheek and a stone at my heart. 
He says 'tis to better his fortune he's roving, 
But what would be gold to the joy I should feel 
If I saw him come back to me, honest and loving, 
Still poor, but my own darling, Teddy O'Neale. 



(58 TKjS shamhock ; OR,' 



T^idLo^v Macliree, 

Widow niachree, 'tis no wonder you frown, 

Och hone ! widow machree, 
Faith it ruins your looks that same dirty black gowii 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
How altered your air, 
With that close cap you wear, 
'Tis destroying your hair, 

That should be flowing free; 
Be no longer a churl 
Of its black silken curl, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 

^idow machree ! now the summer is come, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
WtLen everything smiles, should a beauty look g'tim, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
See the birds go in pairs, 
And the rabbits and hares, 
Why even the bears 

In couples agree, 
And the mute little fish, 
Though they can't spake, they wish, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 

Widow machree, and when winter comes in, 

Och hone ! widow machree, 
To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, 

Och hone ! widow machree 
Why, the shovel and tongs 
To each other belongs, 
And the kettle sings songs 

Full of family glee ; 
While alone with your cup, 
Like a hermit you sup, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 

And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld, 
Och hone ! widow machree. 

But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld, 
Och hone ! widow machree. 



SONGS OP OLD IRELAND. OH 

"With such sins on your head, 
Sure your peace would be fled — 
Could you sleep on your bed, 

Without thinking to see 
Some ghost or some sprite, 
That would wake you each night, 

Crying, och hone ! widow machree. 

Then take my advice, darling widow machree, 

Och hone ! widow machree, 
And with my advice, faith, I wish you'd take me, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
You'd have me to desire, 
And to stir up the fire, 
And, sure, hope is no liar, 

In whispering to me, 
That the ghosts would depart 
When you'd be near my heart, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 



A. Sweet Irisli Girl is tlxe Dar- 
ling. 

If they talk about ladies. I'll tell the plan 
Of myself — to be sure I'm a nate Irishman, 
There is neither sultana nor foreign ma'mselle 
That has charms to please me, or can coax me so well 
As the sweet Irish girl, so charming to see : 
Och ! a tight Irish girl is the darling for me. 
And sing nllilloo, fire away, frisky she'll be; 
Och ! a sweet Irish girl is the darling for me. 

For she's pretty, she's witty, 

She's hoaxing, and coaxing, 

She's smiling, beguiling to see, to see : 

She rattles, she prattles, 

She dances, and prances, 
Och ! a sweet Irish girl is the darling for me. 



70 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, 

Now, some girls they are little, and some they are 

tall, 
Och ! others are big, sure, and others are small ; 
And some that are teazing, are bandy, I tell ; 
Still none can please me, or can coax me so well 
As the dear Irish girl, so charming to see ; 
Och ! a sweet Irish girl is the darling for me. 
For she's pretty, &c. 



Tlxe Land of Potatoes, O! 

Air — Morgan KaUler. 

If I had on the clear 
But rive hundred a year, 
"lis myself would not fear 

Without adding a farthing to 't ; 
Faith if such was my lot, 
Little Irelaud's the spot 
Where I'd build a snug cot, 

With a bit of garden to 't. 
As for Italy's dales, 
With their Alps and high vales, 
Where with fine squalling gales, 
Their signoras so treat us, ! 
I'd ne'er to them come, 
Nor abroad ever roam, 
But enjoy a sweet home 
In the land of potatoes, ! 
Hospitality, all reality, no formality, 

There you ever see ; 
But free and easy 'twould so amaze ye, you'd think us 
all crazy, 

For dull we never be ! 

If my friend honest Jack, 
Would but take a small hack, 
And just get on his back, 

And with joy gallop full to us; 
He, throughout the whole year, 
Then should have the best cheer,. 



SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 71 

For faith none so deaT 

As our brother, John Bull, to us ! 
And we'd teach him, when there, 
Both to blunder and swear, 
And our brogue with him share, 

Which both genteel and neat is, ! 
And we'd make him so drink, 
By St. Patrick, I think, 
That he never would shrink 

From the land of potatoes, ! 
Hospitality, &c. 

Though I freely agree 
I should more happy be 
If some lovely she 

From Old England would favor me ; 
For no spot on earth 
Can more merit bring forth, 
If with beauty and worth 

You embellish' d would have her be ; 
Good breeding, good nature, 
You find in each feature, 
That nought you've to teach her— 

So sweet and complete she's, ! 
Then if fate would but send 
Unto me such a friend, 
What a life would I spend 

In the land of potatoes, I 
Hospitality, &c. 



Tlie Croppy Boy. 

[A Ballad of '98.] 

•' Good men and true ! in this house who dwell. 
To a stranger bouchal- I pray you tell 
Is the priest at home ? or may he be seen ? 
I would speak a word with Father Green." 

• Boy. 



72 THE SHAMROCK. 

" The priest's at home, boy, and may be seen ; 
'Tis easy speaking with Father Green ; 
But you must wait till I go and see 
If the holy Father alone may be." 

The youth has entered an empty hall — 
What a lonely sound has his light foot-fall ! 
And the gloomy chamber's chill and bare, 
With a vested priest in a lonely chair. 

The youth has knelt to tell his sins ; 

" Nomine Dei," the youth begins ; 

At " mea culpa " he beats his breast, 

And in broken murmurs he speaks the rest. 

44 At the siege of Boss did my father fall, 
And at G-orey my loving brothers all. 
I alone am left of my name and race ; 
I will go to Wexford and take their place. 

44 I cursed three times since last Easter day— 
At mass-time once I went to play ; 
I passed the churchyard one day in haste, 
And forgot to pray for my mother's rest. 

44 I bear no hate against living thing ; 
But I love my country above my king. 
Now, Father ! bless me. and let me go, 
To die, if God has ordained it so." 

The priest said nought, but a rustling noise 
Made the youth look up in wild surprise ; 
The robes were off, and in scarlet there 
Sat a yoeman captain with fiery glare. 

With fiery glare and with fury hoarse, 

Instead of blessing, he breathed a curse : — 

44 'Twas a good thought, boy, to come here and shrive, 

For one short hour is your time to live. 

At Geneva Barrack that young man died, 
And at Passage they have his body laid. 
Good people who live in peace and joy, 
Give a prayer and a tear for the Croppy Boy. 



THE 




THE 



CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 



The Zoo-zoo's Toast. 

Arc — " Free and Easy." 

Come, my boys, now fill your glasses; 

Of our time let's make the most ; 
Care's a cloud that quickly passes — 

Join, all hands, and drink the toast! 
Choms—So let the wide world jog as it will, 
We'll be gay and jolly still — 
Gay and jolly, etc. 

Here's the Laws — our Constitution j 

Here's our country, ever free ; 
On our foes just retribution — 

Join, and drink the toast with glee ! 
So let the wide world, etc. 

Here's our Army, spurred by duty ; 

Here's our Navy on the sea, 
Earning still the smile of beauty — 

Victorious ever they shall be I 
So let, etc. 

The honest heart will never loath it, 

Though in rags it may be drest ; 
Manly worth, whate'er may clothe it, 
Shall be prized above the rest. 
So let, etc. 
1* 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

Here's our statesmen — may their learning 
For the right be e'er displayed ; 

And a rich reward be earning — 
The glorious fame by honor made I 
So let, etc. 

Here's to valor, truth, and honor, 
Wheresoe'er they may be found; 

A noble name, man's best adorner — 
Comrades, let the toast go round ! 
So let, etc. 

Here's the toast that every rover 
To the glass will quickly call : 

Soldier, sailor, statesman, lover — 
Here's the ladies, one and all ! 
So let, etc. 

Once again ! the hours are fleeting; 

Drinking is tiie soldier's trick : 
Hark ! the drum the roll-call's beating ! — 

Scatter, Zoo-zoos, "double quick 1" 
So let, etc. 



"Vive la Compagnie ! 

Let Bacchus to Venus libations pour forth, 

Yive la compagnie! 
And let us make use of our time while it lasts, 
Yive la compagnie! 
Chorus — Oh, vive la, vive la, vive l'amour, 
Vive la, vive la, vive l'amour, 
Vive Tamour, vive l'amour, 
Vive la compagnie ! 

Let every old bachelor fill up his glass, 

Vive la compagnie ! 
And drink to the health of his favorite lass, 

Vive la compagnie ! 

Oh, vive la, etc. 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 7 

Let every married man drink to his wife, 

Yive la compagnie ! 
The friend of his bosom and comfort of life, 

Yive la compagnie ! 

Oh, vive la, etc. 

Come, fill up your glasses — I'll give you a toast, 

Yive la compagnie ! 
Here's a health to our friend — our kind, worthy host, 

Yive la compagnie 1 

Oh, vive la, etc. 

Since all, with good humor, I've toasted so free, 

Yive la compagnie ! 
I hope it will please you to drink now with me, 

Yive la compagnie ! 

Oh, vive la, etc. 



Tom Brown. 

The King will take the Queen, 

And the Queen will take the Jack; 
And now, as we're together here, 

We'll ne'er a one go back: 
Chorus — Here's to you, Tom Brown, 

And with you I'll drink a quart ; 
Here's to you with all my heart, 
And with you I'll spend a shilling or two* 
And thus before we part, 
Here's to you, Tom Brown! 

The Jack will take the Ten, 

And the Ten will take the Nine ; 
And now that we're together here, 

"We'll take a glass of wine. 

Here's to you, Tom Brown, etc. 

The Nine will take the Eight, 

And the Eight will take the Seven; 

And now that we're together here, 
We'll stay till after eleven. 

Here's to you, Tom Brown, etc. 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTES. 

The Seven will take the Six, 
And the Six will take the Five ; 

And now that we're together here, 
"We'll drink while we're alive. 

Here's to you, Tom Brown, etc. 

The Five will take the Four, 

And the Four will take the Trey (Three) , 
And now that we're together here, 

We'll stay till break of day. 

Here's to you, Tom Brown, etc. 

The Trey will take the Deuce (Two), 
And the Deuce won't take the One; 

And now that we're together here, 
We'll quit where we've begun. 

Here's to you, Tom Brown, etc. 



Sparkling and Briglrfc. 

Sparkling and bright in liquid light 

Does the wine our goblets gleam in, 
With hue as red as the rosy bed 

Which a bee would choose to dream in. 
Chorus. 
Then drink to-night with hearts as light, 

To love as gay and fleeting, 
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, 

And break on the lips while meeting ! 
We'll drink to-night with hearts as light, 

To love as gay and fleeting, 
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, 
And break on the lips while meeting. 

Oh! if mirth might arrest the flight 

Of Time through life's dominions, 
We here awhile would now beguile 

The graybeard of his pinions. 

Then drink to-night, etc. 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

But since delight can't stop the wight, 
Nor fond regret delay him ; 

Nor love of himself can hold the elf, 
Nor sober friendship stay him — 
. Then drink to-night, etc. 



Oome, send, round tlie Wine ! 

Come, send round the wine, and leave points of belief 

To simpleton sages and reasoning fools ; 
This moment's a flower too fair and brief 

To be withered and stained by the dust of the schools. 
Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue ; 

But, while they are filled from the same bright bowl, 
The fool who would quarrel for difference of hue, 

Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul. 

Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side 

In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree ? 
Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, 

If he kneel not before the same altar with me ? 
From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly, 

To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss ? 
No : perish the hearts and the laws that try 

Truth, valor, or love, by a standard like this ! 



The Pope lie leads a Happy 
Life. 

The Pope he leads a happy life, 
He knows no cares nor marriage strife ; 
He drinks the best of Rhenish wine — 
I would the Pope's gay lot were mine 

But yet not happy is his life — 
He loves no maid or wedded wife ; 
Nor child hath he to cheer his hope — 
I would not wish to be the Pope. 



10 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

The Sultan better pleases me ; 
He leads a life of jollity, 
Has wives as many as he will — 
I would the Sultan's throne then filL 

But yet he's not a happy man — 
He must obey the Alcoran : 
And dares not taste one drop of wine — 
I would not that his lot were mine. 

So here I take my lonely stand : 
I'll drink my own, my native land ; 
I'll kiss my maiden's lips divine, 
And drink the best of Rhenish wine. 

And when my maiden kisses me, 
I'll fancy I the Sultan be ; 
And when my cheering glass I tope 
I'll fancy then I am the Pope. 



V 
Simon the Cellarer. 

AS SUNG BT HENRI DRAYTON AND J. R. THOMAS. 

Old Simon the cellarer keeps a rare store 

Of Malmsey and Malvoise 
Ar)d Cyprus, and who can say how many more ? 

For a chary old soul is he, 

A chary old soul is he. 
Of sack and Canary he never doth fail, 
And all the year round there is brewing of ale 
Yet he never aileth, he quaintly doth say, 
While he keeps to his sober six flagons a day 
Bat ho ! oh ! oh ! his nose doth show 
How oft the black-jack to his lips doth go — 
But ho! oh! oh! his nose doth show 
How oft the black-jack to his lips doth go. 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 11 

Dame Margery sits in her own still room, 

A matron sage is she ; 
From thence oft at curfew is wafted a fume, 

She says it is rose marie — 

She says it is rosemarie : 
But there's a small- cupboard behind the back stair, 
And the maids say they often see Margery there. 
Now, Margery says that she grows very old, 
And must take ? -something to keep out the cold; 
But ho! oh! oh! old Simon doth know 
"Where many a flask of his best doth go. 

Old Simon reclines in his high-back chair, 

And oft talks about taking a wife : 
And Margery often is heard to declare 

She ought to be settled in life — 

She ought to be settled in life. 
But Margery has — so the maids say — a tongue, 
And she's not very handsome, nor yet very young; 
So somehow it ends with a shake of the head, 
And old Simon he brews him a tankard iustead; 
"While ho! oh! oh! he will chuckle and crow — 
"What! marry old Margery ? No! no! no!" 



Drinli of* tills Ou/p. 

Drink of this cup — you'll find there's a spell in 

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! 
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 
"Would you forget the dark world we are in, 

Only taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of it ; 
But would you rise above earth, till akin 

To immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it ! 
Chorus — Send round the cup — for oh, there's a spell in 
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen I 
-Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 



12 THE CONYIYIAL SONGSTER. 

Never was filter formed with such power 

To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing ; 
Its magic began when in autumn's rich hour, 

As a harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing. 
There, having, by Nature's- enchantment, been filled 

With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest weather, 
This wonderful juice from its core was distilled, 

To enliven such hearts as are here brought together I 
Then drink of the cup — you'll find there's a spell in 

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen ! 
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 

And though, perhaps — but breathe it to no one — 

Like caldrons the witch brews at midnight so awful, 
In secret this filter was first taught to flow on, 

Yet 'tis not less potent for being unlawful. 
"What though it may taste of the smoke of that flame, 

Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden — 
Fill up — there's a fire in some hearts I could name, 

Which may work too its charm, though now lawless an<? 
hidden. 

So drink of the cup, etc. 



Drinli to Her. 

jJrink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh; 
The girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. 
Oh, woman's heart was made for minstrel hands alone; 
By other fingers played, it yields not half the tone. 
Then here's to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh ; 
The girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. 
At Beauty's door of glass, when Wealth and Wit once 

stood, 
They asked her, "Which might pass?" she answered, "He 

who could." 
With golden key Wealth thought to pass, but 'twould not do : 
While Wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way 

through. 



TEE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. IS 

So here's to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh; 
The girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. 

The love that seeks a home where wealth or grandeur 

shines, 
Is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold-mines. 
But oh! the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere: 
Its native home's above, though woman keeps it here. 
Then. drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh; 
The girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. 



Beer, Boys, Beer! 

A PARODY ON " CHEEK, BOYS, CHEEE !" 

Drink, boys, drink 1 the beer is now before us ; 

Drown all our sorrows, care, grief, and pain; 
Sing, and be merry, all join in the chorus, 

Pass round the lush, call the landlord in again. 
Here, take the can — let it be filled again, boys ; 

We'll not forget the time tit for mirth : 
Sing comic songs, and never forget our joys — 

Join hand and hand, and prove we're lads of mirth. 

Chorus. 
Beer, boys, beer ! come, push about the measure ' 

Beer, boys, beer! employ the willing hand; 
Drink, boys, drink! ne'er make a toil of pleasure, 

Beer, boys, beer, for this and every land ! 

Drink, boys, drink! the tankard round we're sending, 

Braces each frame— but as through life we pags, 
Never reflect on the time we here are spending, 

Nor like a drunkard be too fond of the glass. 
The day that we toil, it plenty will procure us; 

Our home we'll support, let that care be the first. 
Now, ere we part, a toast, and then the chorus — 

May this hour we're spending of our lives bo the worst. 
Beer, boys, beer, etc. 
2 



14 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. * ' 

A. Mug of OldL Ale. 

Air — " Paddy Miles was a Fisherman." 

Come, fathers and mothers, and sisters and brothers, 

And other relations, wherever you be ; 
Come, neighbors and friends, both one and the other, 

Attend, and I'll tell you how happy are we. 
My maxim's a true one, though somewhat a new one ; 

Indeed, if it's followed, it never will fail: 
The young one, the old one, the coward, the bold one, 

May all be so over a mug of old ale. 

Chorus — Fol de rol lol, etc. 

The man who is rich, and his money's a trouble, 

Never let it perplex him what with it to do : 
Assist those in want, whether single or double, 

And get a good name, though it be from a few. 
Take care of enough for yourself and another, 

That you may enjoy yourself telling the tale 
Of the good you have done for a friend and a brother, 

And still have enough for a mug of old ale. 
Fol de rol lol, etc. 

The man that is poor and must work for his living, 

And Fortune should frown on him day after day, 
Has always a friend that has something to give him 

To soften his mind and drive sorrow away. 
Let Pride never prove himself for you too many, 

Noi prejudice deep in your bosom prevail ; 
But if you should chance for to fall out with any, 

Why, make it ud over a mug of old ale. 

Fol de rol lol, etc. 

The man that is married is sure to be happy, 
Because his companion is with him for lite; 

He can hoax her and coax her, with her take his naprf, 
And by his good policy keep away strife. 

If she should be jealous, then he should be zealous. 
And fondle as often as e'er she may rail j 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 15 

Or when she's inclined to be kind and concessions, 
Why, give her a share of yonr mug of old ale. 
Fol de rol lol, etc. 

The man that is single can always be jolly, 

With social companions he always can join ; 
With all sorts of mirth he can drown melancholy, 

Or if he is rich he can tipple his wine. 
If courting a lass, he is sure for to win her, 

B£ whispering to her a soft, flattering tale; 
He'll soften her heart if he asks her to dinner, 

And pledges her health in a mug of old ale. 
Fol de rol lol, etc. 

Then you that are married, and you that are single, 

And you that are wealthy and you that are poor, 
The younger or older, wherever you mingle, 

Your maxim must be, ''Keep the wolf from the door. 1 ' 
A thorough good man and a thorough good fellow 

Has a countenance pleasant, and naught does bewail; 
He is happy indeed if he goes to bed mellow, 

And he never refuses his mug of old ale. 

Fol de rol lol, eta 



This Life is all oliecfiieired. Tvitlx 
Pleasures and Woes. 

This life is all chequered with pleasures and woes, 

That chase one. another like waves of the deep — 
Each brightly or darkly, as onward it flows, 

Reflecting our eyes, as they sparkle or weep. 
So closely our whims on our miseries tread, 

That the laugh is awaked ere the tear can be dried ; 
uid, as fast as the rain-drop of Pity is shed, 

The goose- plumage of Folly can turn it aside. 
But pledge me the cup — if existeuce would cloy, 

With hearts ever happy, and heads ever wise, 
Be ours the light Sorrow, half-sister to Joy, 

And the light, brilliant Folly, that flashes and dies. 



16 THE COXVIYIaL SOXGSTER. 

When Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount, 

Through fields full of light, and with heart full of piny, 
Light rambled the boy, o'er meadow and mount, 

And neglected his task for the flowers on the way. 
Thus many, like me, who in youth should have tasted 

The fountain that runs by Philosophy's shrine, 
Their time with the flowers on the margin have wasted, 

And left their light urns all as empty as mine. 
But pledge me the goblet ! while Idleness weaves 

These flowerets together, should Wisdom but fee 
One bright drop or two that has fallen on the leaves, 

From her fountain divine, 'tis sufficient for me. 



Tlie Bottle's the Sixn of our 

Table. 

The bottle's the Sun of our table, 

His beams are rosy wine ! 
We, planets that are not able 

Without its help to shine. 

Let mirth and glee abound — 

You'll soon grow bright 

With borrowed light, 
And shine as he goes round. 



Let tlie Toast T>e Dear W oinan. 

Bright, bright are the beams of the morning sky, 

And sweet dew the red blossom sips; 
But brighter the glance of dear woman's eyes, 

And sweeter the dew on her lips. 
Her mouth is the fountain of rapture, 

A source from whence purity flows : 
Oh I who would not taste of its magic, 

As the honey-bee sips of the rose ? 



A. 



THE COXYITIAL SONGSTER. 11 

Chorus. 
Then the toast, then the toast, be " Dear woman I" 

Let each breast that is manly approve ; 
Then the toast, then the toast, be " Dear woman I" 
And nine cheers for the girls that we love. 
Hip! hip! hurrah! — hip! hip! hurrah! 

Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! 
And nine cheers for the girls that we love ! 

Come raise, raise the wine-cup to heavens high;- 

Ye gods of Olympus approve ! 
The offering thus mellowed by woman's bright eye, 

Out-rivals the nectar of Jove. 
Then drain, drain the goblet with transport; 

A spell of life's best joy impart ; 
The cup thus devoted to woman, 

Yields the only true balm to bhe heart. 
Then the toast, etc. 



Drink it down. 

A POPULAR CONVIVIAL SONG. 

Here's success to Port, 
Chorus — Drink it down, drink it down ; 

Here's success to Port, 
Chorus — Drink it down. 
Here's success to Port, 
For it warms the heart for sport — 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 

Here's success to Sherry, 

Drink it down, drink it down; 
Here's success to Sherry, 

Drink it down. 
Here's success to Sherry, 
For it makes the heart beat merry — 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 
2* 



18 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

Here's success to Whiske} T , 

Drink it down, drink it down; 

Here's success to Whiskey, 
Drink it down. 

Here's success to Whiskey, 

For it makes the spirits frisky — 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 

Here's success to Cider, 

Drink it down, drink it down ; 

Here's success to Cider, 
Drink it down. 

Here's success to Cider, 

For it makes the frame grow wider — 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 

Here's success to Brandy, 

Drink it down, drink it down; 

Here's success to Brandy, 
Drink it down. 

Here's success to Brandy, 

Just enough to make us handy — 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 

Here's success to Ale, 

Drink it down, drink it down* 
Here's success to Ale, 

Driuk it down. 
Here's success to Ale, 
When it's made us strong and hale — 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 

Here's success to Punch, 

Drink it down, driuk it down; 

Here's success to Punch, 
Driuk it down. 

Here's success to Punch, 

With a little social lunch — 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTEB. 19 

Here's success to Porter, 

Drink it down, drink it down; 

Here's success to Porter, 
Drink it down. 

Here's success to Porter, 

While we use it as we " oughter" — 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 

Here's success to Water, 

Drink it down, drink it down ; 

Here's success to Water, 
Drink it down. 

Here's success to Water, 

Heaven's draught that does no slaughter, 
Drink it down, drink it down, drink it down. 



Friend, t>y m.y J^o^vl, I'll l^This- 
key drinli ! 

Air — " Come, dwell with me" 

Friend, by my sowl, I'll whiskey drink, 

*'Tis better far than beer; 
'Tis not so heavy, I do think, 

But ah ! 'tis far more dear. 
Like to fair woman's blush, 

That steals away the heart, 
It quickly drowns your brains in lush — 

With senses does depart. 

Come, take a drop with me, my blade, 

We'll get drunk and loon; 
And when we on the floor are laid, 

We'll snore away till noon. 
Perhaps you think it is not paid, 

But that I chalk a score : 
Of that, my boy, be not afraid, 

But drink, and call for more. 



20 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 



One Bumper at IPairting'. 

One bumper at parting ! — though many 

Have circled the board since we met, 
The fullest, the saddest of any, 

Remains to be crowned by us yet. 
The sweetness that pleasure hath in it 

Is always so slow to come forth, 
That seldom, alas ! till the minute 

It dies, do we know half its worth. 
But come — may our life's happy measure 

Be all of such moments made, up : 
They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, 

They die 'midst the tears of the cup. 

As onward we journey, how pleasant 

To pause and inhabit awhile 
Those few sunny spots, like the present, 

That 'mid the dull wilderness smile! 
But Time, like a pitiless master, 

Cries "Onward !" and spurs the gay hours— 
Ah I never doth Time travel faster, 

Than when his way lies among flowers. 
But come — may our life's happy measure 

Be all of such moments made up: 
They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, 

They die 'midst the tears of the cup. 

We saw how the Sun looked in sinking, 

The waters beneath him how bright; 
And now, let our farewell of drinking 

Resemble that farewell of light. 
You saw how he finished, by darting 

His beam o'er a deep billow's brim — 
So, fill up, let's shine at our parting, 

In full liquid glory, like him ! 
And oh 1 may our life's happy measure 

Of moments like this be made up : 
'Twas born on the bosom of Pleasure, 

It dies 'mid the tears of the cup. 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 21 



Cruiskeen Lawn. 

Let the farmer praise his grounds, 
Let the huntsman praise his hounds, 

The shepherd his dew-scented, lawn ; 
But I, more blest than they, 
Spend each happy night and day 

With my charming little cruiskeen lawn. 
Chorus. 
Gra-ma-chree ma cruiskeen, 
Slainte geal ma vourneen, 

Gra/ma-chree a colleen bawu : 
Gra-ma-chree ma cruiskeen, 
Slainte geal ma vourneen, 
Gra-ma-chree a colleen bawn, bawn, bawn, 
Gra-ma-chree a colleen bawn ! 

Immortal and divine, 
Great Bacchus, god of wine 1 

Create me, by adoption, your son — 
In hope that you'll comply, 
That my glass shall ne'er run dry, 

Nor my smiling little cruiskeen lawn. 
Gra-ma-chree, etc. 

And when Grim Death appears, 
In a few but pleasant years, 

To tell me that my glass has run — 
I'll say, "Begone, you knave ! 
For bold Bacchus gave me leave 

To take another cruiskeen lawn." 
Gra-ma-chree, etc. 

Then fill your glasses high, 
Let's not part with lips a- dry, 

Though the lark now proclaims it is dawn ; 
And since we can't remain, 
May we shortly meet again, 

To fill another cruiskeen lawn. 

Gra-ma-chree, etc. 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 



Benny Havens. 

Come, fill your glasses, fellows, and stand up in a row — 
To sentimental drinking we are going for to go; 
In the army there's sobriety — promotion very slow — 
So we'll sigh o'er reminiscences of Benny Havens. ! 

Chorus. 
Benny Havens, ! Benny Havens, 
We'll sigh o'er reminiscences of Benny Havens. 

Let us toast our foster-father, the Republic, as you know, 
"Who in the path of science taught us upward for to grow; 
And then the ladies of our land, whose cheeks like roses 

glow, 
Who were oft remembered in our cups at Benny Havens, ! 
Benny Havens, etc. 

To the ladies of America, whose hearts and albums, too, 
Bear sad remembrance of the wrongs that stripling soldiers 

do— 
We bid a long farewell, the best recompense we know — 
Our loves and rhymings had their source at Benny Ha- 
vens, ! 

Benny Havens, etc. 

Of the smile-wreathed maids, with "virgin lips, like roses 
steeped in dew, 

Who are to be our better halves, we'd like to take a view; 

But sufficient for the bridal day's the ill of it, you know, 

So we'll cheer our hearts with chorusing old Benny Ha- 
vens, 0! 

Benny Havens, etc. 

To the ladies of the army our cups shall overflow, 
Companions of our exile, and a shield 'gainst every foe; 
May they see their husbands Generals, with double pay, 

also, 
And join us in our choruses of Benny Havens, ! 
Benny Havens, etc. 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 23 

To our regiments now, fellows, we all must shortly go, 
And look as grave as parsons when they speak of things 

below ; 
"We must cultivate the graces, do every thing just so, 
And never speak to ears polite of Benny Havens, ! 
Benny Havens, etc. 

Here's a health to Gen'l Scott — God bless the old hero ! 
He's an honor to his country, and a terror to each foe ; 
May he long rest on his laurels, and sorrow never know — 
May he live to see a thousand years, and Benny Havens, ! 
Benny Havens, etc. 

Here's a health to General Taylor, whose rough and ready 

blow 
Brought terror to the rancheros of braggart Mexico; 
May his country ne'er forget his deeds, and never fail to 

show 
She holds him worthy of a place at Benny Havens, 01 
Benny Havens, etc. 

"When you and I, and Benny, and brave McClellan, too, 
Are brought before the final Board, 'our course of life to 

view, 
May we never " Tess" on any point; but then be told to go 
To join the army of the blest, and Benny Havens, 1 
Benny Havens, etc. 

May the army be augmented, promotion be less slow, 
May our country in the time of peace be ready for the foe ; 
May we find a soldier's resting-place beneath a soldier's 

blow, 
And space enough beside our grave for Benny Havens, 1 
Benny Havens, etc. 

To our comrades who have fallen, a cup before we go : 
They poured their life-blood freely out, pro bono publico. 
No marble points the stranger to where they rest below; 
They sleep neglected, far away from Benny Havens, 1 
Benny Havens, etc. 



24 THE C01TVIVTAL SONGSTER. 

From the courts of Death, and danger from Tampa's deadly 

shore, 
Goes up the voice of manly grief — O'Brien is no more! 
In the land of sun and flowers his head lies buried low, 
No more to sing " Petite Coquille," and Benny Havens, Ol 
Benny Havens, etc. 



Fill tlie Bumper Fair. 

Fill the bumper fair ! every drop we sprinkle 

O'er the brow of Care smooths away a wrinkle. 

Wit's electric flame ne'er so swiftly passes, 

As when through the frame it shoots from brimming glasses. 
Fill the bumper fair ! every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care smooths away a wrinkle. 

Sages can, they say, grasp the lightning's pinions, 
And bring down its ray from the starred dominions: 
So we sages sit, and, 'mid bumpers bright'ning, 
From the heaven of Wit draw down all its lightning. 

Wouldst thou know what first made our souls inherit 
This ennobling thirst for wine's celestial spirit? 
It chanced upon that day, when, as bards inform us, 
Prometheus stole away the living fires that warm us: 

The careless Youth, when up to Glory's fount aspiring, 
Took nor urn nor cup to hide the pilfered fire in. — 
But oh his joy, when, round the halls of heaven spying, 
Among the stars he found a bowl of Bacchus lying 1 

Some drops were in that bowl, remains of last night's 
pleasure, 

With which the Sparks of Soul mixed their burning treas- 
ure. 

Hence the goblet's shower hath such spells to win us ; 

Hence its mighty power o'er that flame within us. 
Fill the bumper fair I every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care smooths away a wrinkle. 



TEE C02TVTVIAL SONGSTER. 2 J 



Come, Hiandllor-^ls, fill! 

Chorus — Come, landlords, fill your flowing bowl, 
Until it doth run over; 
For to-night we'll merry, merry be, 
To-morrow we'll get sober. 

Solo — The man that drinks good whiskey-punch, 
And goes to bed mellow, 
Lives as he ought to live, 
And dies a clever fellow. 
Come, landlords, etc. 

The man that drinks cold water, boys, 

And goes to bed sober, 
Falls as the leaves do fall, 

And dies in October. 

Come, landlords, etc. 

But the man who drinks just what he wants, 

And getteth half-seas over, 
"Will live until he dies, perhaps, 

And then lie down in clover. 
Come, landlords, etc. 



Driuli to Me only ^vritli tliine 

Eyes. 

Drink to me only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 

And I'll not look for wine. 
The thirst that from my soul doth rise 

Doth ask a drink divine ; 
But might I of Jove's nectar sip, 

I would not change for thine. 



26 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honoring thee, 
As giving it a hope that there 

It would not withered be; 
But thou thereon didst only breathe, 

And sent it back to me : 
Since then it grows and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself', but thee. 



Wx*eatli the Bowl. 

"Wreath the bowl with flowers of soul, 

The brightest Wit can find us: 
We'll take a flight toward heaven to-night, 

And leave dull earth behind us. 

Should Love amid the wreaths be hid, 

That Joy, the enchanter, brings us, 

No danger fear, while wine is near — 

We'll drown him if he stings us. 

Then wreath the bowl with flowers of soul, 

The brightest Wit can find us; 
We'll take a flight toward heaven to-night, 
And leave dull earth behind us. 

'Twas nectar fed of old, 'tis said, 

Their Junos, Joves, Apollos ; 
And man may brew his nectar too, 

The rich receipt's as follows: 
Take wine like this, let looks of bliss 

Around it well be blended — 
Then bring Wit's beam to warm the stream, 
And there's } r our nectar, splendid I 

So wreath the bowl with flowers of soul, 

The brightest Wit can find us; 
We'll take a flight toward heaven to-night, 
And leave dull earth behind us. 

Say, why did Time his glass sublime 
Pill up with sands unsightly, 



THE COXYIVIAL SONGSTER. 27 

"When wine, he knew, runs brisker through, 

And sparkles far more brightly ? 
Oh, lend it us, and, smiling thus, 
The glass in two we'll sever — 
Make pleasure glide in double tide, 
And fill both ends forever ! 

Then wreath the bowl with flowers of soul, 

The brightest Wit can find us ; 
We'll take a flight toward heaven to-night, 
And leave dull earth behind us. 



.A. Bumper of* Good Liqrior. 

A bumper of good liquor 
Will end a contest quicker 
Than justice, judge, or vicar — 

So fill each social glass : 
But if more deep the quarrel, 
Why, sooner drain the barrel, 
Than be that hateful fellow 
That's crabbed when he's mellow. 



Drown it in the Bowl, 

The glasses sparkle on the board, 

The wine is ruby bright, 
The reign of pleasure is restored — 

Of ease and fond delight. 
The day is gone, the night's our own, 

Then let us feast the soul; 
If any care or pain remain, 

Why, drown it in the bowl. 

This world they say's a world of woe ; 

But that I do deny : 
Can sorrow from the goblet flow, 

Or pain from Beauty's eye ? 



28 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

The wise are fools with all their rules, 
When they would joys control; 

If life's a pain, I say again, 
Let's drown it in the bowl. 

That Time flies fast the poet sings; 

Then surely it is wise 
In rosy wine to dip his wings, 

And seize him as he flies. 
This night is ours ; then strew with flowers 

The moments as they roll : 
If any care or pain remain, 

Why, drown it in the bowl. 



Oil, 'bsmcLii.e't not. 

Oh, banquet not in those shining bowers, 

Where Youth resorts, but come to me : 
For mine's a garden of faded flowers, 

More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee. 
And there we shall have our feasts of tears, 

And many a cup in silence pour ; 
Our guests, the shades of former years, 

Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more. 

There where the myrtle's withering boughs 

Their lifeless leaves around us shed, 
We'll brim the bowl to broken vows, 

To friends long lost, the changed, the dead. 
Or, while some blighted laurel waves 

Its branches o'er the dreary spot, 
We'll drink to those neglected graves 

Where Valor sleeps, unnamed, forgot. 



MynJreer Vandunck. . 

Mynheer Vandunck, though he never was drunk, 

Sipped brandy and water gayly, 
And he quenched his thirst with two quarts of the first 

To a pint of the latter daily — 






THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 29 

Singing, " Oh, that a Dutchman's draught could be 
As deep as the rolling Zuyder Zee I" 

"Water well mingled with spirits good store, 

No Hollander dreams of scorning; 
But of water alone he drinks no more 
Than a rose supplies when a dewdrop lies 

On its bloom, in a summer morning; 
For a Dutchman's draught should potent be, 
Though deep as the rolling Zuyder Zee. 



To Ladies' Eyes. 

To ladies' eyes a round, boy, 

"We can't refuse, we can't refuse, 
Though bright eyes so abound, boy, 

'Tis hard to choose, 'tis hard to choose. 
For thick as stars that lighten 

Yon airy bowers, yon airy bowers, 
The countless eyes that brighten 

This earth of ours, this earth of ours. 
But fill the cup— where'er, boy, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
"We're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all ! so drink them all ! 

Some looks there are so holy, 

They seem but given, they seem but given, 
As shining beacons, solely, 

To light to heaven, to light to heaven; 
While some — oh, ne'er believe them! — 

"With tempting ray, with tempting ray, 
"Would lead us (G-od forgive them !) 

The other way, the other way. 
But fill the cup — where'er, boy, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all I so drink them all I 
3* 



30 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER 

In some, as in a mirror, 

Love seems portrayed, Love seems portrayed, 
But shun the flattering error — 

'Tis but his shade, 'tis but his shade. 
Himself has fixed his dwelling 

In eyes we know, in eyes we know, 
And lips — but this is telling — 

So here they go 1 so here they go 1 
Pill up, fill up — where'er, boy, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all I so drink them all I 



.AjulIcI Lang Syne. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min' ? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And the days o' lang syne ? 
For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne ; 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet 
For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pou't the gowans fine; 
But we've wandered mony a weary foot 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, etc. 

We twa hae paidlet i' the burn 

Frae morning sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid hae roared 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, etc. 

And here's a hand, my trusty frien , 

And gie's a hand o' thine; 
And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, etc. 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 31 

And surely ye '11 be your pint-stoup, 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, etc. 



I lilies a, Drop of" Good Beer. 

▲8 SUNG BY HABBY PEABSON. 

I'm Roger Rough, a ploughman, 

A ploughman's son am I ; 
And, like my thirsty feyther, 

My throttle's always dry. 
Let t' world go wrang, to me it's reet— 

What need I interlere ? 
I work and I sing from morn till neet, 
And then I drinks my beer. 

For I likes a drop o'' good beer, I does ; 
I'm fond of a drop o' good beer, I is ; 
Let gentlemen fine sit down to their wine, 
But I likes a drop o' good beer, I does. 

There's Sarah, that's my wife, sir, 

Loves beer as well as me — 
"Who's the happiest woman in life, sir, 

Who's happy as woman can be ; 
Who does her work, takes care t' bairns — 

No gossiping neighbors near — 
And as every Saturday neet returns, 
Like me, Sal drinks her beer ; 
For Sarah likes her beer, she does ; 
She's fond on a drop o' good beer, she is, 
Let gentlemen fine sit down to their wine, 
But our Sal likes her beer, she does. 

There's my ow'd man, God bless him ! 

He's now turned eighty-five ; 
Hard work can never distress him, 

He's the happiest chap aln* 



32 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

He labors well, 'as gotten his health, 

His heart and head is clear ; 
Possessed of these, he needs no wealth, 
So he sings, and drinks his beer: 
For the ow'd man likes his beer, he does; 
He's fond on a drop o' good beer, he is ; 
Let gentlemen fine sit down to their wine, 
But the ow'd man likes his beer, he does. 

So, lads, need no persuasion, 
But fill vour glasses round; 
We'll never fear invasion 

While barley grows i' th' ground; 
Let discord cease, and joys increase, 

Wi' every coming year — 
Possessed of these, and blest wi' peace, 
Why, we'll sing and we'll drink our beer : 
For we likes a drop o' good beer, we does ; 
We're fond on a drop o' good beer, we is; 
Let gentlemen fine sit down to their wine, 
Btft we likes a drop o' good beer, we does. 



"Willie brew'd a Peck o' Ma,i*t. 

Oh, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 
And Rob and Allan cam' to see ; 
Three blither hearts that leelang night 
Ye wadna find in Christendie. 
We are na fou, we're na that fou, 

But just a drappie in our ee ; 
The cock may craw, the day may daw', 
And aye we'll taste the barley bree. 

Here are we met three merry boys, 
Three merry boys I trow are we ; 

And mony a night we've merry been, 
And mony mair we hope to be. 
We are na fou, etc. 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 33 

It is the moon, I ken her horn, 

That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; 
She shines sae bright to wile us name — 

But, by my troth, she'll wait a wee. 
We are na fou, etc. 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa', 

A cuckold, coward loon is he; 
Wha first beside his chair shall fa', 

He shall be king amang us three. 
We are na fou, etc. 



The Water-Drinker. 

" Drink! drink 1 drink' 
Thou pale -eyed, moody thinker — 
Bacchus-hater, water-drinker — 

Drink, drink, drink, drink the ruby wine ! 
'Twill give thee more years and jolly, 
And 'twill chase away pale melancholy 

From those cheeks of thine." 

Ghorus — Drink, etc. 

"See," the water-sot replieth, 
" Water in its brightness vieth, 

Vieth with the wine-tree's soul ! 
And longer liveth, wiser thinketh, 
The sober sage who never drinketh 

Of the boasted bowl." 

Drink, etc. 

"Well, give me the wine-god's berry! 

They that are more wise than merry, 
Let them drink — let them drink with thee. 

Water seasons not my dishes — 

'Tis a tipple for the fishes, 
Not a drink for me." 

Drink, etc. 



34 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

With a, Jolly Full Bottle. 

A FAVORITE GLEE. 

With a jolly full bottle let each man be armed ; 
We must be true men when our hearts are thus warmed. 
Here's a health to Columbia, the pride of the earth, 
The stars and the stripes — driuk the land of our birth 1 
Toast the army and navy who fought for our cause, 
Who conquered and won us our freedom and laws. 



Tlie JTiig" of Fixncli. 

'Twas very early in the month of June, 
As I was sitting in my room, 
I heard a thrush sing in a bush, 
And the song he sung was a jug of punch. 
Chorus — Tul looral, etc. 

What more divarsion can a man desire, 
Than to be seated by snug coal-fire — 
Upon his knee a pretty wench, 
And on the table a jug of punch? 

Tul looral, etc. 

If I were sick and very bad, 
And was not able to go or stand, 
I would not think it at all amiss 
To pledge my shoes for a jug of punch. 
Tul looral, etc. 

When I am dead and in my grave, 
No costly tombstone will I have ; 
But I'll dig a grave both wide and deep, 
With a jug of punch at my head and feet. 
Tul looral, etc. 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 35 

Now, you jovial topers, as you pass by, 
If you are thirsty, step in and try; 
And with your sweethearts never flinch 
To dip your bills in a jag of punch. 

Tul looral, etc. 



A. GJ-lass is good. 

A GLASS is good, and a lass is good, 

And a pipe is good in cold weather ; 
The world is good, and the people are good, 

And we're all good fellows together. 
A bottle is a very good thing, 

With a good deal of good wine in it ; 
A song is good, when a body can sing, 
And to finish, we must begin it. 
Chorus — For a glass is good, and a lass is good, 
And a pipe is good in cold weather; 
The world is good, and the people are good, 
And we're all good fellows together. 

A friend is good when you're out of good luck, 

For that is the time to try him ; 
For a justice good, the haunch of a buck — 

With such a good present you'll buy him. 
A fine old woman is good, when she's dead; 

A rogue very good for good hanging; 
A fool is good by the nose to be led, 
. And my song deserves a good banging. 
For a glass is good, etc. 



Tlie Monies of Old. 

Many have told of the monks of old, 
What a saintly race they were ; 

But 'tis more true that a merrier crew 
Could not be found elsewhere. 



36 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

For they sung and laughed, and the rich wine quaffed, 
And lived on the daintiest cheer. 

And then they would jest at the love confessed 

By many an artless maid : 
What hopes and fears they had breathed in the ears 

Of those who had sought their aid! 
For they sung and laughed, and the rich wine quaffed, 

As they. told of each love-sick jade. 

And the abbot meek, with his form so sleek, 

Was the heartiest of them all : 
And would take his place with a smiling face, 

When refection-bell would call — 
When they sung and laughed, and the rich wine quaffed, 

Till they shook the olden wall ! 

Then say what you will, we'll drink to them still, 

For a jovial band they were ; 
And 'tis most true that a merrier crew 

Could not be found elsewhere : 
for they sung and laughed, and the rich wine quaffed, 

And lived on the daintiest cheer. 



Song of Bibo. 

Air — " Tlie /Star-spangled Banner." 

Wi JN Bibo went down to the regions below, 
W\ .re Lethe and Styx round eternity flow — 
He .raked in the boat, and lie would be rowed back, 
For his soul it was thirsty, and wanted some sack; 
Bui Charon replied, "You were drunk when you died, 
An(* ne ? er felt the pains that to death are allied." 
"TaKe ate back," replied Bibo, "I mind not the pain; 
Anu if 1 was drunk, let me die once again." 

"Forget ' replied Charon, "those regions of strife; 
Drink $ .1 <jthe divine, 'tis the fountain of life, 



THE COX 71V I AL SOXGSTER. 37 

"Where the soul is new-born, and all past is a dream: 

E'en the gods themselves sip of the care-drowning stream." 

"The gods!" replied Bibo — "drink water who will, 

The maxim of mortals I'll ever fulfil ; 

So prate not to me of your Lethe divine — 

Our Lethe on earth is a bumper of wine I" 

At length grim old Cerberus gave a loud roar, 

"When the crazy old bark struck the Stygian shore; 

Then Bibo got up, and he staggered to land, 

And jostled the ghosts, as they stood on the strand. 

Says Charon, "I tell you, 'tis vain to rebel, 

For you're banished from earth, and shut up in hell." 

"That's a truth," replied Bibo; "I know by this sign — 

For 'tis hell upon earth to be wanting of wine." 



I love a, Sixpence. 

I love a sixpence — jolly, jolly sixpence — 

I love a sixpence as I do my life; 
I'll save a penuy of it, I'll spend a penny of it, 

I'll take fourpence of it home to my wife. 

Chorus. 
For the pipe and the bowl shall greet us, 
Kind friends will ne'er deceive us, 
And happy is the man that shall meet us, 

As we go rolling home — 
. Rolling home, rolling home, rolling home, 

Rolling home, rolling home, rolling home ; 
And happy is the man that shall meet us, 

As we go rolling home ! 

I love a fivepence — jolly, jolly fivepence — 
I love a fivepence as I love my life; 

I'll save a pennj T of it, I'll spend a penny of it, 
I'll take threepence of it home to my wife. 
For the pipe and the bowl shall greet us, etc. 

4 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 



Tlie Best of* all GS-ood. Company. 

Sing ! — Who sings 

To her who weareth a hundred rings? 
Ah, who is this lady fine? 
The Vine, boys — the Vine ! 
The mother of mighty Wine. 
A roamer is she 
O'er wall and tree, 
And sometimes very good company. 

Drink ! — Who drinks 
To her who blusheth and never thinks? 
Ah, who is this maid of thine? 
The Grape, boys — the Grape ! 
Oh, never let her escape ■ 
Until she be turned to Wine ! 
For better is she 
Than Vine can be, 
And very, very good company. 

Dream! — Who dreams 

Of the god who governs a thousand streams? 
Ah, who is this spirit fine? 
'Tis Wine, boys — 'tis Wine ! 
God Bacchus, a friend of mine ! 
Oh, better is he 
Than Grape or tree, 
And the best of all good company ! 



A. Health to all Groocl Lasses. 

Here's a health to all good lasses ; 
Pledge it merrily, fill your glasses — 

Let the bumper toast go round! 
May they live a life of pleasure, 
Without mixture, without measure, 

For in that true iova a»*p fnnnrt 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER* 39 



My Friend and. JPitolier. 

The wealthy fool, with gold in store, 

Is still desirous to grow richer: 
Give rae but health, I'll ask do more, 

With my sweet girl, my friend, and pitcher; 

Chorus. 
My friend so rare, 
My girl so fair, 
"With such what mortal can be richer? 

Possessed of these, a fig I care, 
My own sweet girl, my friend, and pitcher. 

From morning sun I'd never grieve 

To toil, a hedger or a ditcher, 
If that, when I came home at eve, 

I might enjoy my friend and pitcher. 
My friend so rare, etc. 

Though Fortune ever shuns my door, 
I know not what can thus bewitch her; 

With all my heart I can be poor, 

With my sweet girl, my friend, and pitcher. 
My friend so rare, etc. 



Farewell !-but whenever you 
welcome the Hour. 

Farewell ! — but whenever you welcome the hour, 
That wakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, 
Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, 
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. 
His griefs may return — not a hope may remain 
Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain; 
But he ne'er will forget the short vision, that threw 
Its enchantment around him, while lingering with yotx. 



40 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER.. 

And still on that evening, when pleasure tills up 
To the highest top-sparkle each heart and each cup, 
Where : er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, 
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night; 
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles, 
And return to me, beaming all o'er with your smiles — 
Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer, 
Some kind voice had murmured, "I wish he were here! 

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, 
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; 
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, 
And bring back the features that Joy used to wear. 
Long, long be my heart with such memories tilled! 
Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled — 
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, 
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. 



Tlio Brown *Twg£. 

Dear Tom, this brown jug that now foams with mild ale 
(Out of which I now drink to sweet Nan of the vale) 
Was once Toby Filpot, a thirsty old soul 
As e'er cracked a bottle or fathomed a bowl. 
In boozing about 'twas his pride to excel, 
And among jolly topers he bore off the bell. 

It chanced, as in dog-days he sat at his ease 
In his flower-woven arbor, as gay as you please, 
With a friend and a pipe, puffing sorrow away, 
And with honest old stingo was soaking his clay — 
His breath-doors of life on a sudden were shut, 
And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt. 

His body, when long in the ground it "had lain, 

And Time into clay had resolved it again, 

A potter found out in its covert so snug, 

And with part of fat Toby he formed this brown jug, 

Now sacred to friendship, to mirth, and mild ale; 

So here's to my lovely sweet Nan of the vale! 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 41 



Down aimoiig' t&L& Dead. Mien. 

Here's a health to the Queen, and a lasting peace, 

To faction an end, to wealth increase ; 

Come, let's drink it while we have breath, 

For there's no drinking after death. 

And he that will this health deny, 

Down among the dead men let him lie. 

Let charming Beauty's health go round, 
In whom celestial joys are found, 
And may confusion still pursue 
The senseless woman-hating crew; 
And they that woman's health deny, 
Down among the dead men let them lie. 

In smiling Bacchus' joy I'll roll — 
Deny no pleasure to my soul ; 
Let Bacchus' health round briskly move, 
For Bacchus is a friend to Love. 
And he that will this health deny, 
Down among the dead men let him lie. 

May love and wine their rights maintain, 
And their united pleasures reign: 
"While Bacchus' treasure crowns the board, 
"We'll sing the joys that both afford ; 
And they that won't with us comply, 
Down among the dead men let them lie 1 



There's no Deceit in TViiie. 

The mighty conqueror of hearts, 

His power I here deny ; 
With all his flames, and fires, and darts, 

I champion-like defy. 
I'll offer all my sacrifice 

Henceforth at Bacchus' shrine : 
The merry god ne'er tells us lies — 

There's no deceit m wine. 
4* 



42 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER 



Had I tlie Tun ^vliicli Baccliuis 
used. 

Had I the tun which Bacchus used, 

I'd sit on it all day ; 
For, while a can, it ne'er refused — 

He nothing had to pay. 

I'd turn the cock from morn to eve, 

Nor think it toil or trouble; 
But I'd contrive, you may believe, 

To make it carry double. 

My friend should sit as well as I, 

And take a jovial pot; 
For he who drinks — although he's dry — 

Alone, is sure a sot. 

But since the tun which Bacchus used 

We have not here — what then? 
Since god-like toping is refused, 

Let's drink like honest men. 

And let that churl, old Bacchus, sit— 

Who envies him his wine, 
While mortal fellowship and wit 

Make whiskey more divine? 



The Jolly Fat Friar. 

A jolly fat friar loved liquor good store, 

And he had drunk stoutly at supper; 
He mounted his horse in the night at the door, 

And he sat with his face to the crupper: 
"Some rogue," quoth the friar, quite dead to remorse— 

"Some thief, whom a halter will throttle, 
Some scoundrel has cut off the head of my horse, 

While I was engaged at the bottle, 
Which went gluggity, gluggity— glug— glug— glugl" 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 43 

The tail of the steed pointed south on the dale, 

'Twas the friar's road home straight and level; 
But when spurred a horse follows his nose, not his tail, 

So he scampered due north like the devil. 
"This new mode of docking," the friar then said, 

"I perceive doesn't make a horse trot ill: 
And 'tis cheap — for he can never eat off his head, 

While I am engaged at the bottle, 
Which goes gluggity, gluggity— glug—glug—glug I" 

The steed made a stop — in a pond he had got — 

He was rather for drinking than grazing; 
Quoth the friar, " 'Tis strange headless horses should trot, 

But to drink with their tails is amazing! 1 ' 
Turning round to see whence this phenomenon rose, 

In the pond fell this son of a pottle ; 
Quoth he, " The head's found, for I'm under his nose : 

I wish I were over a bottle, 
"Which goes gluggity, gluggity— glug—glug—glug !" 



.A. Sixp of Good Wliiskey 

Am — u Gee ho, Bobbin /" 

A sup of good whiskey will make you glad ; 
Too much of the creatur' will make you mad; 
If you take it in reason, 'twill make you wise; 
If you drink to excess, it will close up your eyes: 

Yet father and mother, 

And sister and brother, 
They all take a sup in their turn. 

Some preachers will tell you that whiskey is bad; 
I think so too — if there's none to be had: 
Teetotallers bid you drink none at all; 
But, while I can get it, a fig for them all! 
Both layman and brother, 
In spite of this pother, 
Will all take a sup in their turn. 



44 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

Some doctors will tell yon, 'twill hurt your health ; 
The justice will say, 'twill reduce your wealih; 
Physicians and lawyers both do agree — 
When your money's all gone, they can get no fee. 

Yet surgeon and doctor, 

And lawyer and proctor, 
"Will all take a sup in their turn. 

The Turks who arrived from the Porte Sublime, 
All told us that drinking was held a. great crime; 
Yet, after their dinner away they slunk, 
And tippled, so sly, till they got quite drunk. 

For Sultan and Crommet, 

And even Mahomet, 
They all take a sup in their turn. 

The Quakers will bid you from drink abstain; 
By "yea" and by "nay" they will make it plain; 
But some of the broad-brims will get the stuff, 
And tipple away till they've tippled enough. 

For Stiff-back. and Steady, 

And Solomon's lady, 
"Will all take a sup in their turn. 

The Germans do say they can drink the most, 
The French and Italians also do boast : 
Ould Ireland's the country (for all their noise) 
For generous drinking and hearty boys; 

There each jovial fellow 

Will drink till he's mellow, 
And take off his glass in his turn. 



"WHhLeii. Bilbo tlxoxig-lit lit* 

When Bibo thought fit from the world to retreat, 

As full of champagne as an egg's full of meat; 

He waked in the boat, and to Charon he said, 

He would be rowed back, for he was not yet dead. 

''Trim the boat and sit quiet," stern Charon replied; 

"You may have forgot — you were drunk when you died I" 



thf co2T«t:yla.l SONGSTER. 45 

"Dei* Lager Bier. 

A PARODY. 
Aib— " TJie Ivy Green." 

Oh, a dainty trink ish der lager bier, 

Vot bleases poth young un old, 
Ash dey traw him out so shparkling un clear 

Yrom his keg so icy un cold ; 
Der vien may be shweet, un der prandy dear, 

But to Measure der Deutscheinan's whim 
Der voaming mug of lager bier 
Ish der only trink for him. 
Chorus. 
Shparkling, voammg, shtrong un clear, 
A goot old trink ish der lager bier. 

Fast he "goes down," dough he has no vings 

But a sholly white head has he; 
Un ven he is trinkt, how der Deutscheman sings 

At der top of his voice mil glee! 
Un now he tumbles upon der ground, 

Un der mug lie so joyously waves ; 
Un der leg of der dable he hugs around, 

While he sings Bacchanalian staves. 

Efery night droughout der year 

Der Deutscheman sh wallows der lager bier. 

Whole ages have fled, un brought a range 

Of new drinks efery year. 
But der Yarman bceples nefer vill change 

Yrom deir olt trink, lager bier; 
Un boets shall trink it, un write its braise, 

As dey've done in der days long bast, 
Dill all who der brice of a mug can raise, 

Trinks lager bier at last. 

Shparkling, voaming, shtrong un clear, 
A goot olt trink ish der lager bier. 



46 THE CONTITIAL SONGSTER. 



One Bottle more. 

Asstst me, ye lads, who have hearts void of guile, 
To sing out the praises of ould Ireland's isle ; 
Where true hospitality opens the door, 
And friendship detains us for one bottle more — 
Chorus. 

One bottle more, arrah, one bottle more ; 

And friendship detains us for one bottle more. 

Old England, your taunts on our country forbear; 
With our bulls and our brogues we are true and sincere: 
For if but one bottle remains in our store, 
"We have generous hearts to give that bottle more. 
One bottle more, etc. 

At Candy's, in Church street, I'lT sing of a set 
Of six Irish blades who together had met; 
Four bottles apiece made us call for our score, 
And nothing remained but just one bottle more. 
One bottle more, etc. 



Fill Kig-K the Brimmer. 

Fill high the brimmer 1 — the land is in sight, 
Well be happy, if never again, boys, to-night; 
The cold, cheerless ocean in safety we've past, 
And the Warm, genial earth glads our vision at last; 
In the land of the stranger true hearts we shall find 
To soothe us in abseuce of those left behind. 
Then fill high the brimmer! the land is in sight, 
We'll be happy if never again, boys, to-night 1 

Fill high the brimmer! till morn we'll remain, 

Then part in the hope to meet one day again, 

Round the hearthstone of home, in the land of our birth. 

The holiest spot on the face of the earth! 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 47 

Bear country, our thoughts are more constant to thee 
(Than the steel to the star, or the stream to the sea. 
Then fill high the brimmer! the land is in sight! 
We'll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night ! 

Fill high the brimmer! — the wine-sparkles rise 
Like tears from the fountain of joy, to the eyes ; 
May rain-drops that fall from the storm-clouds of care, 
Melt away in the sun-beaming smiles of the fair! 
Drink deep to the chimes of the nautical bells, 
To woman, G-od bless her, wherever she dwells ! 
Then fill high the brimmer! the land is in sight; 
We'll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night ! 



Inspiring^ UToxiMrfc of Oiieej^ing? 

Wine. 

Arc— " Tiaghcvrna Mhaighe-eo." 

Inspiring fount of cheering wine ! 
Once more I see thee flow ; 

Help me to raise the lay divine- 
Propitiate thy Mayo! 

Mayo, whose valor sweeps the field, 
And swells the trump of fame. 

May Heaven's high power the champion shield, 
And deathless be his name ! 

Of Glory's sons, thou the heir— 
Thou branch of honor's root ! 

Desert me not, but bend thine ear 
Propitious to my suit. 

Oh ! bid thy exiled bard return- 
Too long from safety fled: 

No more in absence let him mourn, 
Till earth shall hide his head! 

Shield of defence and princely sway, 
May He who rules the sky 

Prolong on earth thy glorious day, 
And every good supply ! 



48 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

Thy death his days would quickly close 
Who lives but in thy grace ; 

And ne'er on earth can taste repose 
Till thou shalt seal his peace 1 



I aim a Friar of" Orders Grrarjr. 

I AM a friar of orders gray, 
And down in the valleys I take my way ; 
I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip — 
Good store of venison fills my scrip! 
My long bead-roll I merrily chant ; 
Where'er I walk, no money I want ; 
And why I'm so plump, the reason I tell — 
Who leads a good life is sure to live well. 

What baron or squire, 

Or knight of the shire, 
Lives half so well as a holy friar ? 

After supper, of heaven I dream, 
But that is fat pullet and clouted cream; 
Myself by denial I mortify — 
With a dainty bit of a warden pie ; 
I'm clothed in sackcloth for my sin, 
With old sack-wine I'm lined within. 
A chirping cup is my matin song, 
And the vesper-bell is my bowl, ding-dong ! 
What baron, etc. 



Here's a Ilealtli to Tliee 9 Torn. 
Moore ! 

My boat is on the shore, 

And my bark is on the sea; 
But before I go, Tom Moore, 

Here's a double health to thee. 






THE CONTIYULJ. SONGSTER. 49 

Here's a sigh for those that love, 

A La a smile for those who hate ; 
And whatever sky's above, 

Here's a heart for every fate. 

Though the ocean roars around me, 

Yet it still shall bear me on ; 
Though a desert should surround me, 

It hath springs that may be won. 

"Were't the last drop in the well, 

As I gasp upon the brink, 
Ere my sinking spirits fell, 

'Tis to thee that I would drink. 

In this water as this wine, 

The libations I would pour 
Should be peace to thee and thine, 

And a health to thee, Tom Moore ! 



Tuscan Wine. 

Away with all water w T herever I come ; 
I forbid it ye gentlemen all — some wine J 

"Wine is your only drink, 

Grief never dares to look at the brink ; 
Six times a year to be mad with wine, 
I hold it no shame, but a very good sign ; 

"Wine 1 wine I wine ! 

"Wine ! wine ! — serve me a dozen, 

Eat let it be frozen and finished with ice, 
And Tuscan wine, for it is nice. 
Fill me a magnum, and reach it me, gods I 
How it glides to my heart by the sweetest of roads , 
Oh, how it tickles me, kisses me, bites me, 
To love and deeds of war excites me ! 

Winel winel wine I 
5 



50 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER 

Wiiislcey, Orinlc I>iviiie ! 

Am— u Bobbin Jocm." 

Whiskey, drink divine! 

Why should drivelers bore us 
With the praise of wine, 

Whilst we've thee before us? 
Were it not a shame, 

Whilst we gayly fling thee 
To our lips of flame, 

If we could not sing thee ? 
Whiskey, drink divine! 

Why should drivelers bore us 
With the praise of wine, 
Whilst we've thee before us? 

Greek and Roman sung 

Chian and Falernian — 
Shall no harp be strung 

To thy praise, Hibernian? 
Tes — let Erin's sons — 

Gen'rous, brave, and frisky— 
Tell the world, at once, 

They owe it to their whiskey. 
Whiskey, etc. 

If Anacreon — who 

Was the grape's best poet — 
Drank our Mountain-dew, 

IIow his verse would show it! 
As the best then known, 

He to wine was civil; 
Had he Inishowen, 

He'd pitch wine to the d — II 
Whiskey, etc 

Bright as beauty's eye, 

When no sorrow veils it; 
Sweet as beauty's sigh, 

When young love inhales it; 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTEB, 51 

Come, then, to my lip — 

Come, thou rich in blisses— 
Every drop I sip 

Seems a shower of kisses. 
Whiskey, etc. 

Could my feeble lays 

Half thy virtues number, 
A whole grove of bays 

Should my brows encumber. 
Be his name adored, 

"Who summed up thy merits 
In one little word, 

When he called thee spirits. 
Whiskey, etc. 

Send it gayly round — 

Life would be no pleasure, 
If we had not found 

This enchanting treasure : 
And, when tyrant Death's 
Arrow shall tranfix ye, 
Let your latest breaths 

Be whiskey! whiskey! whiskey! 
Whiskey, drink divine ! 

Why should drivelers bore us 
With the praise of wine, 
Whilst we've thee before us? 



JLafo's a, Bumper. 

Life's a bumper filled by Fate, 
Let us guests enjoy the treat; 
Nor, like silly mortals, pass 
Life as 'twere but half a glass ; 
Let this scene with joy be crowned, 
Let the glee and catch go round ; 
All the sweets of life combine — 
Mirth and music, love and wine ! 



52 TEE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

Here's to tlie Maiden of" Bash- 
ful Fifteen. 

Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen, 

Now to the widow of titty ; 
Here's to the flaunting, extravagant quean, 
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty; 
Let the toast pass, 
Drink to the lass, 
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. 

Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize, 

Now to the damsel with none, sir: 
Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, 

And now to the nymph with but one, sir. 
Let the toast pass, etc. 

Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow, 
Now to her that's as brown as a berry; 

Here's to the wife with a face full of woe, 

And now to the damsel that's merry. 

Let the toast pass, etc. 

For let her be clumsy, or let her be slim, 
Young or ancient, I care not a feather; 

So fill up a bumper, nay, fill to the brim, 

And let us e'en toast them together 1 

Let the toast pass, etc. 



irio^Ts, tl*oi* Re^al Purple 
8tream. 

Flow, thou regal purple stream, 
Tinted by the solar beam ; 
In my goblet sparkling rise, 
Cheer my heart and glad my eyes. 
My brain ascend on Fancy's wing, 
'Noint me Wine a jovial king 1 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 53 

"While I live, I'll lave my clay; 

When I'm dead and gone away, 

Let my thirsty subjects say, 

" A month he reigned, but that was May." 



May "We ne'er want a. Friend. 

Since the first dawn of reason that beamed on my mind, 

And taught me how favored by fortune my lot, 
To share that good fortune I still was inclined, 

And impart to who wanted what I wanted not. 
'Tis a maxim entitled to every one's praise, 

When a man feels distress, like a man to relieve him ; 
And my motto, though simple, means more than it says : 

" May we ne'er want a friend, nor a bottle to give him V 1 

The heart by deceit or ingratitude rent, 

Or by poverty bowed, though of evils the least, 
The smiles of a friend may invite to content, 

And we all know content is an excellent feast. 
'Tis a maxim entitled to every one's praise, 

When a man feels distress, like a man to relieve him ; 
And my motto, though simple, means more than it says: 

"May we ne'er want a friend, nor a bottle to give him!' 1 



Tlie Good Rhine Wine. 

Pour out the Rhine wine ! let it flow 

Like a free and flowing river, 
Till sadness sinks, and every woe 

Lies drowned beneath its waves forever; 
For naught can cheer the hearts that pine 
Like a deep, deep draught of the good Rhine wine. 
Like a deep, etc. 
6* 



54 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

Pour out the Rhine wine evermore. 

Let the goblet ne'er be tiring — 
The poet's song, and the sage's lore, 
And the patriot's lofty soul inspiring; 
For an offering meet at Freedom's shrine 
Is a deep, deep draught of the good Rhine wine. 
Like a deep, etc. 

Pour out the Rhine wine, when each hand 

Doth grasp a brimming measure ; 
The pledge shall be, " Our fatherland, 

And freedom, friendship, love, and pleasure.-" 
Then hurrah for the land of the purple vine, 
And a deep, deep draught of the good Rhine wine. 
Like a deep, etc. 



Tlie j^ongj* of tlxe Glass. 

Come, push round the flagon, each brother, 

But fill bumper-high ere it pass; 
And while you hob-knob one another, 

I'll sing you " The Song of the Glass." 

Once Genius, and Beauty, and Pleasure, 

Sought the goddess of Art in her shrine, 
And prayed her to fashion a treasure, 

The brightest her skill could combine. 
Said the goddess, well pleased at the notion, 

" Most gladly I'll work your behest ; 
From the margin of yonder blue ocean, 

Let each bring the gift that seems best." 

Cliorus — Then push round the flagon, etc. 

Beauty fetched from her own ocean-water 
The sea-wraik that lay on the strand ; 

And Pleasure the golden sands brought her 
That he stole from Time's tremulous hand. 



THE CONYIYIAL SONGSTER. 55 

But Genius went pondering and chusing 
Where gay shells and sea-flowers shine — * 

Grasped a sun-lighted wave in his musing, 
And found his hand sparkling with brine. 

Then push round the flagon, etc. 

"'Tis well," said the goddess, as, smiling, 

Each offering she curiously scanned, 
On her altar mysteriously piling 

The brine, and the wraik, and the sand ; 
Mixing up, with strange spells as she used them, 

Salt, soda, and flint, in a mass ; 
"With the flame of the lightning she fused them, 

And the marvellous compound was — Glass! 

Then push round the flagon, eta 

Beauty glanced at the crystal, half frighted, 

For stirring with life it was seen — 
Till, gazing, she blushed all delighted, 

As she saw her own image within. 
"Henceforth," she exclaimed, u be thou ever 

The mirror to Beauty most dear ; 
Not from steel, or from silver, or river, 

Is the reflex so lustrous or clear." 

Then push round the flagon, eta 

But Genius the while rent asunder 

A fragment,, and raising it high, 
Looked through it, beholding with .wonder 

New stars over-clustering the sky. 
With rapture he cried, " Now is given 

To Genius the power divine 
To draw down the planets from heaven, 

Or roam through the stars where they shine." 

Then push round the flagon, etc. 

The rest fell to earth — Pleasure caught it — 
Plunged his bowl, ere it cooled, in the mass ; 

To the form of the wine-cup he wrought it, 
And cried. "Here's the trut use of Glass l n 



56 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

Then leave, boys, the mirror to woman — 

Through the lens let astronomers blink — 
There's no glass half so dear to a true man 
As the wine-glass when rilled to the brink. 
Then push round the flask, each good fellow, 

Let's capture old Time ere he pass; 
"We'll steal all his sar^s while he's mellow, 
And fill with the grape -juice his glass. 



Potteen, Gi-oo<l I^nelc to y^e 5 dear. 

Av I was a monarch in state, 

Like Romulus or Julius Caysar, 
"With the best of fine victuals to eat, 

And drink like great Nebuchadnezzar, 
A rasher of bacon I'd have, 

And potatoes the finest was seen, sir ; 
And for drink, it's no claret I'd crave, 

But a keg of old Mullen's potteen, sir, 

With the smell of the smoke on it still. 

They talk of the Romans of ould, 

Whom they say in their own times was frisky; 
But trust me to keep out the cowld, 

The " Romans" at home here like whiskey. 
Sure it warms both the head and the heart, 

It's the soul of all readin' and writin' ; 
It teaches both science and art, 

And disposes for love or for fightin'. 
potteen, good luck to ye, dearl 



A. Bii.iii.pei* for Thee. 

Oh, a draught of yon bright, blushing stream let me drain, 
That now glows on the board like the suu on the sea; 

I drink not to Beauty, though bound in her chain ; 
But, friend of my soul, here's a bumper for thee ! 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 5? 

Love you'll oft find is as full as the wind, 

And fades like the moon as each new cloud appears; 

But the light I extol is the sun of the soul, 

Which shineth more brightly through sorrow and tears. 
Then a draught, etc. 

There is fame for the bard when he raises the song, 

Which shall give to the lover his fondest delight; 
And there's glory for him who is first in the throng 

Where the brave ones are battling for freedom and right. 
Fame is a breath often stifled by death, 

And glory a murmur which lasts but its hour; 
But friendship lives on, when life's summer is gone, 

And blossoms as bravely in shine as in shower. 
Then a draught, etc. 



Dx-inlic and Ibe g-Iaci. 

Down, down with the sorrows and troubles of earth; 
For what is life made of, but drinking and mirth ? 
Drink, and be glad, sirs; laugh and be gay; 
Keep sober to-morrow, but drink, drink to-day. 

Love's a deceiver, he'll cheat if he can ; 
Sweet, innocent woman is wiser than man; 
Trust her not, trust her not, she will deceive, 
Who wins her may gather the sea in a sieve. 
Then drink, etc. 

Laying up treasure is labor and care — 
All you have toiled for is spent by the heir ; 
Knowledge is wearisome, save when the wise 
Study whole volumes in beautiful eyes. 

Then drink, etc. 

So down with the sorrows and troubles of earth ; 
For what was life made for, but drinking aud mirth ?- 
Drink, and be glad, sirs — laugh and be gay ; 
Keep sober to-morrow, but drink, drink to-day! 



58 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTEE. 



They were Merrj Days. 

They were merry days for England, in cottage and in hall, 
When Sir John Barleycorn was free, and paid do tax at all; 
When Sir John Barleycorn was free, we'd neither want nor 

woe, 
For he filled each manly heart with glee, and cheered both 

high and low. 

They were merry days for England, when peasants brewed 
good beer, 

And Sir John Barleycorn was free to glad them all the 
year; 

When Sir John Barleycorn was free, our peasants were 
content, 

Nor envied men of high degree their wealth and high de- 
scent. 

They were merry aays for England, as we read in song and 

tale, 
When we'd neither Whigs nor Tories, but the merry nut- 

brown ale; 
When Sir John Barleycorn was free, he cheered both high 

and low, 
And instead of sickly, pale-faced tea, we'd a drink to make 

hearts glow. 

We'd have merry days in England, in spite of care and toil, 
If Sir John Barleycorn were free for the men who till the 

soil; 
When Sir John Barleycorn is free, we'll fear no foreign foe, 
Nor sip slow death in poisoned lee, for the malt's pure 

juice shall flow. 

They'll be merry days in England for the farmer aDd his 

man, 
When Sir John Barleycorn is free to fill the earthen can; 
When Sir John Barleycorn is free, and pays no tax at all, 
Then merry will our counties be, from the cottage to the 

hall I 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 59 



tSniere 9 ^ no *Joy lil^ie Drinliiii^. 

Let the Sultan Saladin 
Pi ay the rake in Palestine ; 
"While he claims his subjects' duty, 
He's himself a slave to beauty, 
"Wearing baser chains than they : 

Well, well, well, well, 
Every man must have his way — 
But to my poor way of thinking, 
There's no joy like drinkiug. 

Coeur-de-Leon loves the wars; 
Bichard's joys are blows and scars; 
Conquered pagans fly before him, 
Christian warriors all adore him, 
Watching, marching, night and day: 

Well, well, well, well, 
Every man must have his way — 
But to my poor way of thinking, 
There's no joy like drinking. 



Give me Woman, giye me Wine. 

Give me woman 1 give me wine! 
Each a treasure — both divine; 
And let the bowl be crowned 

With lovely roses, virgin flowers, 
Culled from summer's blooming bowers, 
To breathe perfume around. 

And when the air is scented, bring 
The god of Love, without his wing, 
His brows with myrtle bound, 
To charm the mistress of my soul ; 
Let Wit fly o'er the sparkling bowl, 
Within it Care lie drowned. 



60 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 



JETucicile thy Nose. 

Merrily, merrily push round the glass, 

And merrily troll the glee ; 
For he who won't drink till he wink is an ass- 

So, neighbor, I drink to thee. 

Merrily, merrily fuddle thy nose, 

Until it right rosy shall be ; 
For a jolly red nose (I speak under the rose) 

Is a sign of good company. 



Your ITeaitli, Old Friend. 

Tour health, old friend ! I've thought of thee 

When seas rolled wide between us, 
And there amid the wild waves' waste 

Young Memory's spot was greenest. 
There I could see our village home, 

And feel the bond that bound us ; 
I there could see the rustic maids, 

With their beauteous eyes around us. 

Chorus. 
But let it be on desert sand, 

Or sailing 'neath the star — 
I'll ever think of thee, old friend, 

A thousand miles afar. 

Your health, old friend ! I've thought of thee, 

And young days gone and faded; 
With me thou hast been on the sea, 

When Night her lamp hath shaded; 
And we have spoke of bygone joys, 

Of happy times passed over, 
When here, upon the village green, 

We joined the friend and lover. 

But let it be, etc. 



THE CONYIYIAL SOXGSTER. 61 

Your health, old friend ! I've thought of thoe, 

Of home and all its beauties; 
And Fancy saw the old green tree, 

Amid the seaman's duties. 
And we have heard the jolly laugh, 

Which o'er the wine-cup found us ; 
Old smiling friends could see beside, 

And bless the link that bound us. 
But let it be, etc. 



We won't $£& Home till Morn- 
ing-. 

(This bacchanalian song, though spoken of more, perhaps, than any 
other song in the language, is really less known. We have all heard 
the choru3 a thousand times, but how very few know the entire 
song !) 

Oh, the jolly old Sun I where goes he at night ? 
What does he do when he's out of sight ? — 

Insinuation scorning, 
We don't mean to say that he tipples apace ; 
We only know he's a jolly red face 

When he gets up of a morning. 
So here we are as merry as grigs, 
And here we'll stop, so please the pigs, 

Old Time and his dry glass scorning. 
And the jolly old Sun shall hear us sing, 
Till this whirligig World to his centre shall ring! 

We won't go home till morning, 

We won't go home till morning, 

We won't go home till morning, 
Till daylight doth appear. 

Hip! hip 1 hip! hurrah I 

Hip! hip! hurrah I 

We won't go home, etc. 

Look at the Stars, those twinkling dogs 
Perched up amid the clouds and fogs : 

Bless them I they're always a- winking— 
6 



6-2 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

But we know very well, without any doubt, 
That some of them sometimes are tumbling about; 
They're are sly dogs, I'm thinking. 

So here we are as merry as grigs, etc 

The lady Moon, beaming with light, 
Mincing along on her way so bright, 

While the dew on the mountain is sleeping ; 
But the funny old maid — betwixt me and you — 
Is marvellous fond of the mountain dew, 

And sips it while nobody's peeping 1 

So here we are as merry as grigs, etc. 

Since the Sun and the Moon and the Stars agree, 
There's nothing like fun and jollity — 

Such opinions we won't be scorning I 
No!— 

We won't go home till morning, 

We won't go home till morning, 

We won't go home till morning, 

Till daylight doth appear I 

Por here we are as merry as grigs, etc 



Tlie Year tlxat 9 ^ awa'. 

Aik — " IPs good to be off with the old love" 

Here's to the year that's awa' ! 

We will drink it in strong and in sma' ; 
And here's to ilk bonnie young lassie we lo'ed, 

While swift flew the year that's awa'. 
And here's to ilk, etc. 

Here's to the sodger who bled, 

And the sailor who bravely did fa' ; 

Their fame is alive, though their spirits are fled 
On the wings of the year that's awa'. 

Their fame is alive, etc. 



THE CONVITIAL SONGSTER. 63 

Here's to the friends we can trust 

When the storms of adversitj^ blaw; 
May they live in our song, and be nearest our hearts, 

Nor depart like the year that's awa'. 
May they live, etc. 



Here's to yoti again. 

Aib— " Toddlvri* hame" 

Let votaries o' Bacchus o' wine mak' their boast, 

And drink till it mak' them as dead's a bed-post; 

A drap o' maut bree I wad far rather pree, 

And a rosy-faced landlord's the Bacchus for me. 

Then I'll toddle but and I'll toddle ben, 

And let them drink at wine wha nae better do ken. 

Your wine it may do for the bodies far south, 

But a Scotsman likes something that bites i' the mouth, 

And whiskey's the sting that can do't to a teel 

Then Scotsmen and whiskey will ever agree, 

For with toddlin' but and toddlin' ben 

Sae lang we've been nurst on't we hardly can spean. 

It's now thretty years since I first took the drap; 

To moisten my carcase and keep it in sap ; 

And though what I've drunk might hae slacken'd the sun, 

I hud I'm as dry as when first I begun ; 

For wi' toddlin' but and toddlin' ben, 

I'm nae sooner slacken'd than drouthy again. 

Oh, leeze me on whiskey! it gie's us new life, 

It makes us aye cadgy to cuddle the wife ; 

It kindles a spark in the breast o' the cauld, 

And it makes the rank coward courageously bauld ; 

Then we'll toddle but an' we'll toddle ben, 

An' we'll coup aft* our glasses, " Here's to you again 1" 



64 THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 



Old King- Cole. 

Old King Cole 

Was a merry old soul, 
And a merry old soul was he ; 

He called for his pipe, 

And he called for his bowl, 
And he called for his fiddlers three : 
Every fiddler had a fine fiddle, 

And a very fine fiddle had he ; 
Tweedle twee, tweedle twee, went the fiddler, 

Tweedle, tweedle, twee! 

And so merry we'll all be, 
Tweedle twee! 

For there's none so rare 

As can compare 
To the Sons of Harmony I 

Old King Cole 
Was a merry old soul, 
And a merry old soul was he; 
He called for his pipe, 
And he called for his bowl, 
And he called for his pipers three: 
Every piper had a fine pipe, 
And a very fine pipe had he : 
Toodle loo, toodle loo, went the piper — 
Toodle, loodle loo ! 

And so merry, etc. 



Come, nowj all ye> Social Pow- 
ers. 

Come, now, all ye social powers, 
Shed your influence o'er us ; 

Crown with joy the present hours- 
Enliven those before us. 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 65 

Chorus. 

Bring the flask, the music bring — 

Joy shall quickly find us! 
Sport and dance, arid laugh and sing, 

And cast dull care behind us. 

Love, thy godhead I adore, 

Source of generous passion; 
Nor will we ever bow before 

Those idols, Wealth and Fashion. 

B ring the flask, etc. 

Why the plague should we be sad, 
Whilst on earth we moulder? 

Eich or poor, or grave or mad, 
"We every day grow older. 

Bring the flask, etc. 

Friendship ! oh, thy smile's divine, 

Bright in all its features; 
"What but friendship, love, and wine, 

Can make us happy creatures? 

Bring the flask, etc. 

Since the time will pass away 

Spite of all our sorrow, 
Let's be blithe and gay to-day, 

And never mind to-morrow. 

Bring the flask, etc. 



Begone, 33xill Care ! 

Begone, dull Care. I prithee begone from me ; 
Begone, dull Care, thou and I shall never agree. 
Long time thou hast been tarrying here, 

And fain thou wouldst me kill; 
But V faith, dull Care, 

Thou never shalt have thy wilL 
6* 



Gti TSS COXVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

Too much care will make a young man turn gray, 
And too much care will turn an old man to clay. 
My wife shall dance, and I will sing, 

So merrily pass the day; 
For I hold it still the wisest thing 

To drive dull Care away. 



The ^ol<Iie:r*s Toast* 

Aib— " Tit* Girl I left behind ms? 

Come, boys, each has his darling chief J 

But let us ne'er be singling, 
From out the rose, one special leaf, 

That with the whole is mingling. 
A fairer shape, a brighter hue, 

Is given to some than others; 
But Union makes them lovelier, too, 

And loyal hearts are brothers. 

Away with party prejudice ! 

I'll pledge no name nor nation; 
The wine my votive lip shall kiss 

Smiles not on fame nor station. 
I drain for all, whate'er their creed, 

Their country, rank, communion, 
"Who in the cause of Freedom bleed, 

And combat for the Union ! 

So here's the sunbeams where they shine, 

The rain-drops where descending; 
To high and humble pour the wine, 

An equal toast extending. 
To all the hearts that offer life, 

To prove their love for Freedom, 
Here's triumph in each coming strife, 

"With God to guard and lead 'em J 



rHE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 67 



Fill the Goblet again! 

Fill the goblet again \ for I never before 

Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core; 

Let us drink I who would not ? since through life's varied 

round, 
In the goblet alone no deception is found, 

I have tried in its turn all that life can supply; 

I have basked in the beam of a dark-rolling eye; 

I have loved — who has not ? but what heart can declare 

That pleasure existed while passion was there ? 

In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring, . 
And dreams that atfection can never take wing — 
I had friends — who has not? but what tongue will avow 
That friends, rosy Wine! are so faithful as thou? 

The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange ; 

Friendship shifts with the sunbeam; — thou never canst 
change: 

Thou grow'st old — who does not? but on earth what ap- 
pears, 

Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years ? 

When the season of youth and its vanity's past, 
For refuge we fly to the goblet at last; 
Then we find — do we not? in the flow of the soul, 
Tiiat truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl. 

Long life to the Grape! for when summer is flown, 
The age of our nectar shall gladden our own : 
"W e must die — who must not ? may our sins be forgiven I 
And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven. 



W oman— a Toast. 

She is the only endurable aristocrat — elects without vo- 
ting, governs without law, and decides without appeal. 



68 THE COXVTVIAL SONGSTER. 

Tlie Big-l>elliedL Bottle. 

Air — "Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern let 9 fly? 

No churchman am I, for to rail and to write ; 
No statesman or soldier, to plot or to fight ; 
No sly man of business, contriving a snare — 
For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of my care. 

The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow; 
I scorn not the peasant, though ever so low; 
But a club of good fellows, like those that are here, 
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 

There passes the squire on his brother — his horse: 
Then centum per centum, the cit with his purse ; • 
But see you the crown how it waves in the air ? 
There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care. 

The wife of my bosom, alas I she did die; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That a big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care. 

I once was persuaded a venture to make : 
A letter informed me that all was to wreck ! 
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up-stairs, 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 

" Life's cares they are comforts, " a maxim laid down 
By the bard what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown : 
A.nd, faith, I agree with th' old prig to a hair, 
For a big-bellied bottle's a heaven of care. 

(A stanza added in a masonic lodge.) 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow, 
And honors masonic prepare for to throw; 
May every true brother of the compass and square 
Have a big-bellied bottle when harassed with care f 



THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 69 



Tlxe Tliirsty Eax-tli. 

The thirsty Earth drinks up the rain, 
And thirsts and gapes for drink again : 
The plants suck in the earth and air 
With constant drinking, fresh and fair. 

The sea itself (which one would thinly 
Should have but little need of drink) 
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up, 
So filled that they o'erflow the cup. 

The busy Sun (and one would guess 
By's drunken fiery face no less) 
Drinks up the sea ; and when he's done, 
The moon and stars drink up the sun. 

They drink and dance by their own light, 
They drink-and revel all the night: 
Nothing in Nature's sober found, 
But an eternal health goes round 1 

Fill up the bowl, then— fill it high! 
Fill all the glasses here ; for why 
Should every creature drink but I ? 
Why, man of morals, tell my why ? 



T^itlr an Honest Old ITrieiicl. 

With an honest old friend and a merry old song, 
And a flask of old port, let me sit the night long, 
And laugh at the malice of those who repine 
That they must swig porter, while I can drink wine. 

I envy no mortal, though ever so great, 
Nor scorn I a wretch for his lowly estate ; 
But what I abhor, and esteem as a curse, 
Is poorness of spirit, not poorness of parse. 



TO THE CONVIVIAL SONGSTER. 

Then dare to be generous, dauntless, and gay ; 
Let's merrily pass life's remainder away! 
Upheld by our friends, we our foes may despise, 
For the more we are envied the higher we rise. 



Bilbo's Will. 

Witness, friends, I make my will ; listen, I'll indite it ; 

He that hath a lawyer's skill, if he likes, may write it. 

Do not toll a dismal knell when my body passes — 

If you needs must ring a bell, ring a peal of glasses! 

Place no gravestones o'er my head, plant no w r eeping wil- 
low — 

Let the vineyard be my bed, vine-leaves be my pillow; 

Lay me close beneath the root of the grape that charmed 
me — 

'Tis but fair to warm the fruit that so often warmed me. 

Devotees and love-sick maids, let them sleep together 
In their cool and peaceful shades, I love sunny weather. 
Let no requiem be sung: in the gloomy aisle, boys, 
Let the beautiful and young dance o'er me and smile, boys. 
If you ever speak of ine, say I hated thinking; 
And I'm sure you'll all agree, I was good at drinking! 
I've a cellar full of wine — claret, hock, and sherry — 
When it is no longer mine, drink it, and be merry! 



.A. Song* after a Toast. 

If he, to whom this toast we drink, 

• Has brought the needy to his door; 
Or raised the wretch from ruin's brink, 

From the abundance of his store; 
If he hath soothe'd the mourner's woe, 
Or helped young merit into fame — 
This night our cups shall overflow 
. In honor of his name. 



THE CONVIVIAL. SONGSTER. 71 

If he be poor, and yet has striven 

To ease the load of human care ; 
If to the famished he has given 

One loaf that it was hard to share ; 
If, in his poverty erect, 

He never did a deed of shame — 
Fill high I we'll drain, in deep respect, 

A bumper to his name. 

But, rich or poor, if still his plan 

Has been to play an honest part; 
If he ne'er failed his word to man, 

Or broke a trusting woman's heart; 
If emulation fired his soul 

To snatch the meed of virtuous fame — 
Till high ! we'll drain a flowing bowl 

In honor to his name. 



Forty 



Toasts for Convivial Occasions. 

Beauty and "Wine. 
Bkisk wine and lovely women are 

The source oi all our joys; 
A bumper softens every care, 

And beauty never cloys. 
Then let us drink, and let us love, 

While yet our hearts are gay ; 
Women and wine we all approve, 

As blessings night and day. 

Good. "Wishes. 
To the old, long life and treasure; 
To the young, all health and pleasure; 

To the fair, their face, 

"With eternal grace; 
And the rest, to be loved at leisure I 



Gratitude. 

To this motto, 
With firmness unceasing Fll bend: 
May he who wants gratitude, 

E'er want a friend 1 



12 THE CONVIYIAL SONGSTER. 

May the name of woman insure respect — her presence inspire it. 

May love be stronger than old wine, and ever discard the zephyr's 
/ring. 

May our wine brighten the mind, and strengthen the resolution. 

Though wine cannot deceive us, may we never be deceived by its 
ntimacy. 

May Bacchus always be found to keep company with Solon. 

May wc never trust Bacchus so far as to rely upon his truth. 

Old wine, old friends, and young cares. 

May friendship, like wine, improve as time advances. 

May the memory of the past be grateful, and hope for the future 
Animated. 

May the bottle inspire warmth, but never sufficient heat to fire us. 

May our wit never be dependent upon wine. 

"When wine ceases to inspire, may we banish it from our presence. 

May our wine brighten the rays of friendship, but never diminish 
its lustre. 

May our wine gladden the heart, but not awaken the passions. 

Friend of my soul, here's a bumper to thee I 

May the cup close, but never produce strife. 

May a quarrelsome toper be compelled to be a teetotaler. 

May mirth and reason, wit and wine, never be opposed to each other. 

Health to the fair, and may happiness accompany it. 

"When we speak of the fair in our toasts, may our minds be puri- 
fied by the introduction. 

May our fair friends command respect; even Bacchus should ap- 
prove their rights. 

May we cease to drink the moment we cease to appreciate the 
wine. 

May the joys of drinking never supersede the pleasure of reasoning. 

May our wine add wings to old Time, but not make us insensible 
of his flight. 

May Friendship propose the toast, and Sincerity drink it 

Love and Wine, may neither deceive the other. 

May wine lighten care, never drown it. 

May w T e cease to* lift the glass while Sense guides our hand. 

A jolly nose, w r hen it is the sign of a good fellow, but not of a sot. 

May we never color the nose by emptying the pocket 

May the bloom of the face never extend to the nose. 

May the bumper of life be filled, but not with follies. 

May we live, without forgetting we must die. 

May music accompany our mirth, and love give zest to our wine. 

Champagne for our real friends, and real pain for our sham friends. 

May the cup flow with nectar that is pressed by woman's lips. 

Wine and Woman : may we never be too old to have a taste for 
both. 

One wife, one bottle, and one friend : the first beautiful ; the second 
full ; and the last ever faithful. 






TUB END. 



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of Landsieldt. Cloth, gilt side. This book contains. -in account, in de- 
tail, of all the arts employed by the fashionable ladies of all the chief 
cities of Europe, for the purpose of developing and preserving their 
charms Price 50 cts. 



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Popular Books sent Free of Postage at the prices annexed. 



Live and Learn : A Guide for all those who wish to speak and write 
correctly; particularly intended as a Book of Reference for the solu- 
tion of difficulties connected with Grammar, Composition, Punctua- 
tion, <fcc, &c, containing examples of one thousand mistakes of daily 
occurrence, in speaking, writing, and pronunciation. 216 pages, cloth, 

12mo ....:. Price 63 ets. 

The Harp of a Thousand Strings; or, Laughter for a Lifetime. A 

large book of nearly 400 pages. By the Author of Mrs. Partington's 
Carpet-Bag of Fun." Bound in a handsome gilt cover. Containing 
more than a million laughs, and crowded full of Funny Stories, besides 
being illustrated with over Two Hundred Comical Engravings, by 
Darley, McLennan, Beliew, &c Price $1.25. 

The Book Cf 1.000 Comical Stories ; or, Endless Repast of Fun, Ap- 
propriately illustrated with 300 Comic Engravings. By the Author of 
" Mrs. Partington's Carpet Bag of Fun." Large 12mo. cloth. 

Price $1.00. 

The Perfect Gentleman ; or, Etiquette and Eloquence. A Book of In- 
formation and Instruction for those who desire to become brilliant and 
conspicuous in G-eneral Society; or at Parties, Dinners, or Popular 
Gatherings. Containing Model Speeches for all Occasions, with Di- 
rections how to deliver them; 500 Toasts and Sentiments for every- 
body, and their proper mode of introduction; How to use Wine at 
Table ; with Rules for judging the quality of Wine, and Rules for 
Carving; Etiquette, or proper Behavior in Company, with an American 
Code of Politeness for every Occasion ; Etiquette at Washington, Re- 
markable Wit and Conversation at Table, &c, &c. To which is added, 
The Duties of a Chairman of a Public Meeting, with Rules for the Or- 
derly Conduct thereof; together with "Valuable Hints and Examples 
for Drawing up Preambles and Resolutions, and a great deal of in- 
structive and amusing matter never before published. 12mo. cloth, 
nearly 400 pages — - Price $1.25. 

ScngS of Ireland : Embracing Songs of the Affections, Convivial and 
Comic Songs, Patriotic and Military Songs; Historical and 'Political 
Songs; Moral, Sentimental, Satirical, and Miscellaneous Songs. Edi- 
ted and Annotated by Samuel Lover, Author of "Handy Andy," 
" Rory O'More," "Legends and Stories of Ireland," &c. Embellished 
with numerous fine Illustrations, engraved by the celebrated Dalziel. 
12mo. cloth, gilt side and back Price $1.25. 

Narratives and Adventures of Travelers in Africa. By Charles Wil- 
liams, Esq. 12mo. cloth, gilt back. Profusely illustrated with En- 
gravings - Price $1.00. 

Tne Lady's Own Pattern Bock; or, Treasures in Needlework. Com- 
prising instructions in Knitting, Netting, Crochet, Point Lace, Tatting, 
Braiding, Embroidery, &c. Illustrated with over Five Hundred Use- 
ful and Ornamental Designs, Patterns, &c. By Mrs. Pullan and Mrs. 
Warren. Large 12mo. gilt side and back. This work, which is su- 
perbly gotten up, so as to fit it for holiday souvenirs, contains over Five 
Hundred Engravings, Pattern Plates, &c, and besides, embraces 
minute instructions for the execution of every known species of 
needle-work. No family should be without it Price $1.25. 

Anecdotes of Love. Being a true accoun t of the most remarkable events 
"connected with the History of Love in all Ages and among all Nations. 
By Lola Montez, Countess 6f Landsfekit. Large 12mo, cloth. 

Price $1.25. 



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The Book of 500 Curious Puzzles, Containing a large collection of 
Entertaining Paradoxes, Perplexing Deceptions in Numbers ami 
Amusing Tricks in Geometry. By the author of '* The Sociable.' 
Illustrated with a great variety of engravings. 12mo. fancy paper 

cover Price 25 ets. 

The Book of Pireside Games : A Repertory of Social Amusements. 
Containing an Explanation of the most Entertaining frames, suited 
to the Family Circle as a Recreation. By the Author of "The Socia- 
ble," " The Secret Out," &c, &c. Illustrated, 12mo, fancy paper 

cover...... Price 25 cts. 

TKg American Kome Cook-Book. Containing several hundred excel- 
lent Recipes. The whole based on many years' experience of an Amer- 
ican Housewife. Illustrated with Engravings. All the Recipes in 
this Book are written from actual experiments in Cooking. There 
are no copyings from theoretical cooking i ecipes. It is a book of 128 
pases, and is very cheap..— - Price 25 CtS. 

Or. Valentine's Comic Lectures. A budget of wit and Humor; or, 

Morsels of Mirth for the Melancholy. A certain cure for the blues, and 
all other serious complaints. Comprising Comic Lectures on Heads. 
Faces, Noses, Mouths, Animal Magnetism, etc., with Specimens of 
Eloquence, Transactions of Learned Societies, Delineations; of Eccen- 
tric Characters, Comic Songs, etc,, etc. By Dr. W, 'Valentine, the 
favorite delineator of Eccentric Characters. Illustrated with twelve 
portraits of Dr. Yalentine, in his most celebrated characters. 12mo, 

cloth, gilt — Price 75 cts. 

Ornamental paper cover . . Price50cts. 

Br Valentine's Comic Metamorphoses. Being the second series of 

Dr. Valentine's Lectures, with characters as given by the late Yankee 
Kill. Embellished with numerous portraits. Ornamental paper 

cover 1 - — Price 50 cts. 

Cloth, gilt -.-„— -Price 75 ets. 

The Book of 1,000 Comical Stories; or, Endless Repast of Fun. A 
rich banquet for every day in the year, with several courses and a des- 
sert. BILL OF FARE : Comprising Tales of Humor, Laughable 
Anecdotes, Irresistible DroPeri s, Jovial Jokes Comical Conceits, 
Puns and Pickings, Quibbles and Queries, Bon Mots and Broadgriusj 
OJdities, Epigrams, &c, &c. Appropriately Illustrated with 300 Comic 
Engravings. By the author of "Mrs. Partington's Carpet-Bag of Fun." 
Large 12mo, cloth - Price $1.00. 

The Courtship and Adventures of Jonathan Homebred ; or, the 
Scrapes and Escapes of a Live "Yankee. Beautifully Illustrated. 
12mo, cloth. The book is printed in handsome style, on good paper, 
and with amusing engravings - Price $1.00. 

Etiquette and the Usages of Society.. Containing the most Approved 

"Rules for Correct Conduct in Social and Fashionable Life — with 
Hints to both Oentlernen and Ladies on Awkward and Yulgar Habits. 
Also, the Eiique'teot Love and Courtship, Marriage Etiquette, &c, 

dec. By H.P. Willis. A book of 64 pages Price lOctS. 

Bound in cloth with gilt side, and printed on fine paper, suitable for a 
present to alady Price 25 Cts. 

The Chairman a^rl Speaker's Cuide J or, Rules for the Orderly Con- 
duct of Public Meetings Price 12 CtS. 



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Popular Books sent Free of Postage at tlie prices annexed. 
Pettengill's Perfect Fortune-Teller and .Dream-Book: or, The 

Art of Discerning Future Events, as practiced by Modern Seers and 
Astrologers — being also a Key to the Hidden Mysteries of the Middle 
Ages. To which is added Curious and Amusing Charms, Invocations, 
Signs, &c, &o. By Peletiah Pettengill, Philom. A book of 144 
pages, bound in boards, with cioth back Price 30ct8, 

Courtship Made Easy ; or, The Art of Making Love fully Explained. 
Containing full and minute directions for conducting a Courtship with 
Ladies of every age and position in society, and valuable information 
for persons who desire, to enter the marriage state. Also, Porms of 
Love Letters to be used on certain occasions. 64 pp. Price 12 CtS. 

Chester field's Art of Lettsr-writing Simplified. A Guide to Friendly, 

Affectionate, Polite, and Business Correspondence Price 12 CtS. 

Containing a large collection of the most valuable information relative 
to the Art of Letter- Writing, with clear and complete instructions how to 
begin and end correspondence, Rules for Punctuation and Spelling, &c, 
together with numerous examples of Letters and Notes on every subject of 
Epistolary Intercourse, with several Important Hints on Love Letters. 

Knowlson's Farrier, and Complete Horse Doctor. We have printed a 
new and revised edition of this celebrated book, which contains Knowl- 
sons famous Recipe for the cure of Spavin, and other new matter. It 
is positively the best book of the kind ever written. We sell it cheap 
because of the immense demand for it. The farmers and horse- 
keepers like it because it gives them plain common-sense directions 
how to manage their horses. We sell our new edition (64 pages, 
18mo,) cheap Price 12 CtS. 

The Art of Conversation : With Remarks on Fashion and Address. By 
Mrs. Maberlt. This is the best book on the subject ever published. 
It contains nothing that is verbose or difficult to understand, but all 
the instructions and rules for conversation are given in a plain and 
common-sense manner, so that any one, however dull, can easily 
comprehend them. 64 pages octavo, large Price 25cts. 

Horse-Taming" by a New Method, as Practiced by J. S. Rarey. A 

New and Improved Edition, containing Mr. Rarey's whole Secret of 
Subduing and Breaking Vicious Horses, together with his Improved 
Plan of Managing Young Colts, and Breaking them to the Saddle, the 
Harness, and the Sulkey — with ten engravings illustrating the process. 
Every person who keeps a horse should buy this book. It costs but a 
trifle, and you will positively find it an excePent guide in the manage- 
ment of that noble animal. This is a very handsome book of 64 

pages... Price 12 cts. 

The Game of Whist: Rules, Directions and Maxims to be observed 
in playing it. Containing also Primary Rules for Beginners, Ex- 
planations and Directions for Old Players, and the Laws oftheGrame. 
Compiled from Hoyle and Matthews. Also, Loo, Euchre, and Poker, 
as now generally played — with an explanation of Marked Cards, 
&c, &c Price 12 cts. 

The Young Bride's Book: An Epitome of the Social and Domestic 
Duties of Woman, as the Wife and the Mother. By Arthur 
Freeing. This is one of the best and most useful books ever issued ia 
the cheap form. It is printed in clear and beautiful type, and on 
fine paper Price 12 cts. 



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The Ladies' Love Oracle ; or, Counsellor t-> the Fair Sex. Beinsr a 
complete Fortune Teller and Interpreter to all questions upon the differ- 
ent events and situations of life, but more especially relating to all 
circumstances connected with Love, Courtship, and Marriage. By 
Madame Lb Marc hand. Beautifully illustrated cover, printed in 
colors .-.-Price 25 cts. 

The Laws Of Love- A complete Code of Gallantry. 

12 mo. Paper ..... . Price 25 cts. 

Containing concise rules for the conduct of Courtship through its en- 
tire progress, aphorisms of love, rules for telling the characters and dis- 
positions of women, remedies for love, and an Epistolary Code. 

Gamblers' Tricks with Cards "Fxposed and Explained. By J. H. 
Green, Reformed Gambler. 12mo, paper - -.-Price 25 Cts. 

This work contains one hundred tricks with cards, explained, and 
shows the numerous cheats which Gamblers practice upon their unwary 
dupes. 

How to Win and How to "Woo. Containing Rules for the Etiquette 
of Courtship, with directions showing how to win the favor of Ladies, 
how to begin and end a Courtehip, and how Love Letters should be 
written _ Price 12 cts. 

Bridal Etiquette. A Sensible Guide to the Etiquette and Observances 
of the Marriage Ceremonies; containing complete directions for Bridal 
Receptions, and the necessary rules for bridesmaids, groomsmen 
sending cards, &c, «fcc --Price 12 cts. 

How to Behave ; or, The Spirit of Etiquette. A Complete Guide to 
Polite Society, for Ladies and Gentlemen; containing rules for good 
behavior at the dinner table, in the parlor, and in the street ; with im- 
portant hints on introduction, conversation, &c Price 13 cts. 

The Everlasting Fortune-Teller and Magnetic Dream-Book. Con- 
taining the science of foretelling events by the Signs of the Zodiac, 
Lists of Lucky and Unlucky Days, with Presages drawn therefrom ; 
the science of Foretelling Events by cards, dice, &c._- Price 25 cts. 

Morgan's Free-Masonry Exposed and Explained. Showing the 
Origin. History, and Nature of Masonry ; its Effects on the Govern- 
ment and the Christian Religion; and containing a Key to all the 
Degrees of Free-Masonry; giving a clear and correct view of the 
manner of Conferring the Different Degrees, as practiced in all Lodges 
throughout the Globe Price 25 cts. 

How to Dress with Taste ; Containing hints on the harmony of colors, 
the theory of contrast, the complexion, shape or night, Price 12 Cts. 

Mind Your Ptops: Punctuation made plain, and Composition sim- 
plified for Readers, Writers and Talkers Price 12 cts, 

This little book is worth ten times the price asked for it, and will 

teach accurately in everything, from the diction of a friendly letter to 

the composition of a learned treatise. 

Hard Words Made Easy ; Rules for Pronunchtion and Accent; with 
instructions how to pronounce French, Italian, German. Russian, 
Danish, Dutch, Swedish, Norwegian, and other foreign names. A 
capital work Price 12 cts. 



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Fontaine's Golden Wh*el Dream-Book and Fortune-Teller. By 

Felix Fontaine, Fortune-Teller and Astrologer. Being the most 
complete book on Fortune-Telling and Interpreting Dreams ever 
printed. Each Dream has the lucky number which the Dream sig- 
nifies attached to it, and those who wish to purchase Lottery Tickets 
will do well to consult them. This hook also informs you how to 
Tell Fortunes with the Golden Wheel, with Cards, Dice, and Dom- 
inoes; how to' tell future events by Psalmistry on the lines of the 
hands, by moles on the body, by the face, nails, and shape of the 
head ; how to find where to dig for water, coal, and all kinds of 
metals, with the celebrated Divining Hod ; Charms to make your 
Sweetheart love you, to make your Lover pop the question ; together 
with Twenty "Ways of Telling Fortunes on New Year's Eve. This 
book contains 144 pages, and is bound in pasteboard sides with cloth 
back. It is illustrated with numerous Engravings, showing how to 
hold the Divining Hod, how to lay out Cards when you Tell For- 
tunes, how to tell the names of your intended Wife or Husband by 
the charm of the Key and Look, etc. This book also contains a large 
Colored Lithographic Engraving of the Golden Wheel, _ which folds 
up. It is the cheapest on our list— — Price SO cts. 

Chesterfield's Letter-Writer and Complete Book cf Etiquette ; or, 

Concise Systematic Directions for Arranging and Writing Letters. 
Also, Model Correspondence in Friendship and Business, and a great 
variety of Model ' ,ove Letters. If any lady or gentleman desires to 
know how to begin a Love Correspondence, this is just the book they 
want. If they wish to speak their minds to a tardy, a bashful, or a 
careless or indifferent lover, or sweetheart, this book tells exactly 
how it should be done. This work is also a Complete Look of Eti- 
quette. You will find more real information in this book than in 
half-a-dozen volumes of the more expensive ones. It is emphat- 1 
ically a book for the million, and one which every young person 
should have. As it contains Etiquette for Ladies, as well as for Gen- 
tlemen — Etiquette of Courtship and Marriage — Etiquette for writing 
Love Letters, and all that sort of thing, it is an appropriate book to 
present to a lady. This book contains 136 pages, and is bound in 
pasteboard sides, with cloth back trice 30ctS. 

Le Marchand's Fortnne-Teller and Bream-Bock. A complete in- j 

terpretation to all questions upon the different events and situations 
of life; but more especially relating to Love, Courtship and Mar- 
riage. Containing the significations of all the various Dreams, 
together with numerous other methods of foretelling future 
events. By Madam Le Marchand, the celebrated Parisian Fortune- 
Teller Price 30 cts. 

100 Tricks "With Cards. J« H. Green, the Reformed Gambler, has 
just authorized the publication of a new edition of his book entitled, 
«* Gamblers' Tricks with Cards Exposed and Explained." This is a 
book of 93 pages, and it exposes and explains all the mysteries of the 
Gambling Tables. It is interesting not only to those —^o pla£; but 
to those who do not. Old Players will get some new ideas rrosa tins 
curious book Price 25 ots. 

Laughing Gas. An Encyclopaedia cf "Wit, "Wisdom, and "Wind. By 
Sam Slick, Jr. Comically illustrated with 100 original and laugh- 
able Engravings, and nearly 500 side-extending Jokes, and other 
things to get fat on ; and the best of it is, that every thing about the 
book is new and fresh — all new— new designs, new stories, new type 
— no comic almanac stuff. It will be found a complete antidote H 
"hard times" Price *5 cts. 



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Popular Books sent Free of Postage at the prices annexed. 

Courteney's Dictionary cf Abbreviations; Literary, Scientific, 

Commercial, Ecclesiastical, Military, Naval, Legal and Medical. A 
book of reference — 3,000 abbreviations — for the solution of all literary 
mysteries. By Edward S. C. Courtenef, Esq. This is a very- 
useful book. Everybody shonld get a copy Price 12 cts. 

Blunders in Behavior Corrected Price 12 cts. 

A concise code of deportment for both sexes. " It will polish and re- 
fine either sex, and is Chesterfield superseded. — Home Companion. 

Five Hundred French Phrases. Adapted for those who aspire to speak 
and write French correctly Price 12 Cts, 

How to detect Adulteration in our Daily Food. and Drink. A 

complete analysis of the frauds and deceptions practiced upon articles 
of consumption, by storekeepers and manufacturers ; with full direc- 
tions to detect genuine from spurious, by simple and inexpensive 
means Price 12 cts. 

The Young" Housekeeper's Book ; or, How to have a Good Living 
upon a Small Incomes Price 12 cts. 

How to be Healthy I Being a complete Guide to Long Life. By a 
Ketired Physician Price 12 cts. 

How to Cut and Contrive Children's Clothes at a Small Cost With 
numerous explanatory engravings Price 12 Cts. 

How to Talk and Debate ; or, Fluency of Speech Attained without the 
Sacrifice of Elegance and Sense Price 12 Cts. 

How to Manage Children Price 12 cts. 

The Great "Wizard of the North's Hand-Book of Natural Magic. 

Being a series of the newest Tricks of Deception, arranged for Ama- 
teurs and Lovers of the Art. By Professor J. H. Anderson, the 
Great Wizard of the North Price 25 cts. 

The Knapsack full of Fun; or, 1000 Rations of Laughter. Illus- 
trated with, over 500 Comical Engravings, and containing over 1000 
Jokes and Funny Stories by "Doesticks," and other witty writers. 
Large Quarto _ Price 25 cts. 

The Plate of Chowder *, A Dish for Funny Fellows. Appropriately- 
illustrated with 100 Comic Engravings. By the Author of ''Mrs. Par- 
tington's Carpet-Bag of Pun." 12mo, paper cover Price 25 Cts. 

Deacon Doolittle's Drolleries. A Collection of Funny and Laughable 
Stories told by the Deacon, in which he had either acted a part or 
taken much interest in. This book is got up especially for the benefit 
of thin and spare people — or for that class of mankind whom it would 
benefit to "Laugh and Grow Fat." It contains some thirty or forty of 
the best stories ever invented, full of droll and laughable incidents, 
caleulnted to drive away the blues, and to make one in good humor 
with all mankind Price 12 Cts. 

The Laughable Adventures cf Messrs. Brown, Jones, &Eobinson, 
showing where theywfmf, and how they went; what they did, 
and how they did it. With nearly two hundred most thrillinglv-comic 
engravings Price 25 cts. 



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