THE GROVES OF BLARNEY.-Continued.

And if a lady

Would be so engaging
As to walk alone in

Those shady bowers,
'Tis there the courtier
He may transport her
Into some fort, or
All under ground.

For 'tis there's a cave where

No daylight enters,
But cats and badgers

Are for ever bred;

Being mossed by nature,
That makes it sweeter
Than a coach-and-six,
Or a feather bed.
'Tis there the lake is,
Well stored with perches,
And comely eels in
The verdant mud;
Besides the leeches,
And groves of beeches,
Standing in order

For to guard the flood.

There's statues gracing
This noble place in-
All heathen gods

And nymphs so fair:
Bold Neptune, Plutarch,
And Nicodemus,
All standing naked

In the open air!
So now to finish
This brave narration,
Which my poor geni
Could not entwine;
But were I Homer,
Or Nebuchadnezzar,
'Tis in every feature

I would make it shine.

Will have the hand-or toe,

From a bowld sojer boy!

There's not a town we march through,
But the ladies, looking arch through
The window panes, will search through

The ranks to find their joy;

While up the street,

Each girl you meet,
With look so sly,

Will cry
"My eye!

Oh! isn't he a darling

the bowld sojer boy!"

But when we get the route,
How they pout,

And they shout,

While to the right about

Goes the bowld sojer boy!

'Tis then that ladies fair,
In despair

Tear their hair,

But the div'l a one I care,

Says the bowld sojer boy;

For the world is all before us,
Where the landladies adore us,
And ne'er refuse to score us,

But chalk us up with joy ;

"Oh! that's the chap

For me,

Says she,

Oh, isnt he a darling-the bowld sojer boy."

THE BOWLD SOJER BOY.-Continued.

Then come along with me,
Gramachree,

And you'll see

How happy you will be

With your bowld sojer boy;

Faith, if you're up to fun,

With me run,

'Twill be done

And 'tis then that without scandal

In the snapping of a gun,

Says the bowld sojer boy;

Of our mutual flame, my joy;

Myself will proudly dandle

The little farthing candle

May his light shine.

As bright as mine,
Till in the line

He'll blaze

And raise

The glory of his cause, like a bowld sojer boy'

THE BANKS OF BANNA.

Rt. Hon. GEORGE OGLE.

SHEPHERDS, I have lost my love,
Have you seen my Anna?
Pride of every shady grove
Upon the banks of Banna,
I for her my home forsook.
Near yon misty mountain,
Left my flocks, my pipe, my crook,
Greenwood shade, and fountain.

Never shall I see them more

Until her returning;
All the joys of life are o'er-

From gladness chang'd to mourning.
Whither is my charmer flown?
Shepherds, tell me whither?

Ah! woe for me, perhaps she's gone,
For ever and for ever!

BARNEY BRALLAGHAN'S COURTSHIP.

'Twas on a windy night,

At two o'clock in the morning, An Irish lad so tight,

All wind and weather scorning, At Judy Callaghan's door,

Sitting upon the pailings,
His love-tale he did pour,

And this was part of his wailings-
Only say

You'll have Mister Brallaghan,
Don't say nay,

Charming Judy Callaghan.

Oh, list to what I say,

Charms you've got like Venus; Own your love you may,

There's only the wall between us You lie fast asleep,

Snug in bed and snoring, Round the house I creep, Your hard heart imploring.

Only say, &c.

I've got nine pigs and a sow,
I've got a stye to keep 'em ;
A calf and a brindled cow,

And got a cabin to sleep in ;
Sunday hose and coat,

An old grey mare to ride on, Saddle and bridle to boot,

Which you may ride astride on.

I've got an old Tom cat,

Only say, &c.

Thro' one eye he's staring;

I've got a Sunday hat,

Little the worse for wearing;
I've got some gooseberry wine-
The trees had got no riper;
I've got a fiddle fine,

Which only wants a piper.
Only say, &c.

BARNEY BRALLAGHAN'S COURTSHIP.- Continued.

I've got an acre of ground,
I've got it set with praties;

I've got of backey a pound

And got some tay for the ladies ;

I've got the ring to wed,

Some whiskey to make us gaily,
A mattress, feather bed,

And handsome new shillelah.

Only say, &c.

You've got a charming eye,

You've got some spelling and reading;
You've got, and so have I,

A taste for genteel breeding;
You're rich, and fair, and young,
As everbody's knowing,

You've got a dacent tongue,
Whene'er 'tis set a going.

For a wife till death

Only say, &c.

I am willing to take ye

But, och, I waste my breath,

The devil himself can't wake ye!

'Tis just beginning to rain,

So I'll get under cover;

I'll come to-morrow again,

And be your constant lover.

Only say, &c.

DEAR LAND.

When comes the day all hearts to weigh,
If staunch they be, or vile,

Shall we forget the sacred debt

We owe our mother isle?

My native heath is brown beneath,

My native waters, blue;

But crimson red o'er both shall spread,

Ere I am false to you,

Dear land

Ere I am false to you.