SAINT PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN.

SAINT Patrick was a gentleman, he came off decent people,

In Dublin town he built a church, and on it put a steeple ;

His father was a Callaghan, his mother was a Brady, His aunt was an O'Shaughnessy, and his uncle was a

Grady.

Then success to bold Saint Patrick's fist, he was a saint so clever,

He gave the snakes and toads a twist, and banished them for ever!

There's not a mile in Ireland's isle, where the dirty vermin musters,

Where'er he put his dear fore-foot he murdered them in clusters;

The toads went hop! the frogs went flop! slap dash into the water,

And the beasts committed suicide to save themselves from slaughter.

Then success, &c.

Nine hundred thousand vipers blue he charm'd with sweet discourses,

And dined on them at Killaloo, in soups and second

courses;

When blind worms, crawling on the grass, disgusted all the nation,

He gave them a rise, and open'd their eyes to a sense of their situation.

Then success, &c.

No wonder that our Irish boys should be so free and frisky,

For Saint Patrick was the very man who first invented

Whiskey;

No wonder that the Saint himself to taste it should be

willing,

For his mother kept a sheeban shop in the town of Inniskillen !

Then success, &c.

The Wicklow hills are very high, and so's the hill of Howth, too,

But there's a hill much higher still, aye, higher than them both, too;

'Twas on the top of this high hill, Saint Patrick preach'd the sarment:

He drove the frogs into the bogs, and bother'd all the

varment!

Then success, &c.

MEET ME IN THE BOWER OF ROSES.

WHEN twilight dies o'er the distant dale,
And the glow-worm is brightly beaming,
And the nightingale's note is heard in the vale,
And the moon on the blue lake is gleaming,
Meet me in a bower of roses;

And there we will plight,

By the bonny starlight,
Our tenderest vows

'Neath the jessamine boughs,

While kiss after kiss

Shall heighten our bliss.

Thus in heaven-like rapture forget all our care,
While Nature in slumber reposes.

When whispers of night through moon-lit tree creep,
And the gale is with flow'rets' breath teeming
Like beauty in tears in the shade the rose weeps,
And the owl from her lone tower is screaming,

Meet me in the bower of roses, &c.

REMEMBER ME.

REMEMBER me when, far away,

I journey through the world's wide waste: Remember me at early day,

Or when the evening shadows haste.
When high the pensive moon appears,
And night, with all her starry train,
Gives rest to human hopes and fears,
Remember, I alone complain.
Remember me whene'er

you sigh,
Be it at midnight's silent hour,
Remember me, and think that I
Return thy sigh and feel its power.
Whene'er you think on those away,
Or when you bend the pious knee,
Or when your thoughts to pleasure stray,
O, then, dear maid, remember me.

THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE.

O, THIS is no my ain lassie,
Fair though the lassie be;
O weel ken I my ain lassie,
Kind love is in her ee.

I see a form, I see a face,

Ye weel may wi' the fairest place;
It wants to me the witching grace,
The kind love that's in her ee.
O, this is no, &c.

She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,
And lang has had my heart in thrall;
And ay it charms my very saul,

The kind love that's in her ee.
O, this is no, &c.

Wait but to whisper, "In her bower
Thy lady's heart doth mourn;
As droops at eve the folded flower
Until the sun's return."

THE BRIDAL STAR.

HIS white plume o'er the mountain streams,
My heart throbs with delight,
His corslet in the sunshine beams--
He comes, my peerless knight.

The banquet spread and music bring
From holy land afar ;

His lady love shall welcome sing,

And touch her gay guitar,

The banquet spread, &c.

While songs of mirth and pastime strains
Are breathing soft around,
Hail, vassals, hail, till yonder plains

His welcome home resound.

I'll deck myself in all my best,
And wear my bridal star-

And now he's laid his lance at rest,
I'll touch my gay guitar.

The banquet spread, &c.

THE DAY RETURNS.

THE day returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet;
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd,

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o'er the sultry line;

Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, Heaven gave me more-it made thee mine.

While day and night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give;
While joys above my mind can move,
For thee, and thee alone, I live!
When that grim foe of life below,
Comes in between to make us part;
The iron hand that breaks our band,
It breaks my bliss-it breaks my heart.

SWEET HOPE.

SWEET hope, thou art a sovereign balm
For hearts by sorrow wounded;
Thy smiles impart a tender calm,
É'en when by storms surrounded!
For, like the many tinted bow,
Grief's atmosphere thou cheerest,
And darker as the shadows grow,
The brighter thou appearest.

And though by every tongue reviled,
As treacherous, false, deceiving,-
Who hath not dried his tears, and smiled,
Thy promises believing?

Then still I'll court thy soothing power,

And thy sweet influence cherish; To thee I'll cling in life's last hour, Nor quit thee till I perish.

I'M A TOUGH, TRUE HEARTED SAILOR.

I'm a tough, true-hearted sailor,
Careless and all that, d'ye see,

Never at the times a railer,--
What is time or tide to me?