I wish, I wish, I wish in vain,
I wish I had my heart again,
And vainly think I'd not complain,
Is go d-teidh tu, a mhúrnín, slán !

Siubhail, siubhail, siubhail, a rúin !
Siubhail go socair, agus siubhail go ciúin,
Siubhail go d-ti an doras agus eulaigh liom,
Is go d-teidh tu, a mhúrnín, slán!

But now my love has gone to France,
To try his fortune to advance;

If he e'er come back, 'tis but a chance,
Is go d-teidh tu, a mhúrnín, slán!

Siubhail, siubhail, siubhail, a rúin!

Siubhail go socair, agus siubhail go ciúin,
Siubhail go d-ti an doras agus eulaigh liom,
Is go d-teidh tu, a mhúrnín, slán!

IRISH MOLLY O

A STREET-BALLAD

Like 'Shule Aroon,' this ballad has been largely kept alive by virtue of the beautiful and pathetic air to which it is sung.

OH! who is that poor foreigner that lately came to town,
And like a ghost that cannot rest still wanders up and down?
A poor, unhappy Scottish youth ;—if more you wish to know,
His heart is breaking all for love of Irish Molly O!

She's modest, mild, and beautiful, the fairest I have known-
The primrose of Ireland—all blooming here alone-

The primrose of Ireland, for wheresoe'er I go,

The only one entices me is Irish Molly O!

When Molly's father heard of it, a solemn oath he swore,
That if she'd wed a foreigner he'd never see her more.
He sent for young MacDonald and he plainly told him so—
'I'll never give to such as you my Irish Molly O!'

She's modest, &c.

MacDonald heard the heavy news-and grievously did say-'Farewell, my lovely Molly, since I'm banished far away,

A poor forlorn pilgrim I must wander to and fro,

And all for the sake of my Irish Molly O !'

She's modest, &c.

'There is a rose in Ireland, I thought it would be mine :
But now that she is lost to me, I must for ever pine,
Till death shall come to comfort me, for to the grave I'll go,
And all for the sake of my Irish Molly O!'

She's modest, &c.

'And now that I am dying, this one request I crave, To place a marble tombstone above my humble grave! And on the stone these simple words I'd have engraven so"MacDonald lost his life for love of Irish Molly O!"' She's modest, &c.

THE MAID OF CLOGHROE

Air: 'Cailín deas cruithi-na-mbo.'

(The Pretty Girl milking the Cows.)

As I roved out, at Faha, one morning,
Where Adrum's tall groves were in view-
When Sol's lucid beams were adorning,

And the meadows were spangled with dew-
Reflecting, in deep contemplation,

On the state of my country kept low,

I perceived a fair juvenile female

On the side of the hill of Cloghroe.

Her form resembled fair Venus,

That amorous Cyprian queen ;

She's the charming young sapling of Erin,
As she gracefully trips on the green;

She's tall, and her form is graceful,

Her features are killing also ;

She's a charming, accomplished young maiden,
This beautiful dame of Cloghroe.

Fair Juno, Minerva, or Helen,

Could not vie with this juvenile dame ; Hibernian swains are bewailing,

And anxious to know her dear name. She's tender, she's tall, and she's stately, Her complexion much whiter than snow; She outrivals all maidens completely,

This lovely young maid of Cloghroe.

At Coachfort, at Dripsey, and Blarney
This lovely young maid is admired ;
The bucks, at the Lakes of Killarney,
With the fame of her beauty are fired.
Her image, I think, is before me,

And present wherever I go;

Sweet, charming young maid, I adore thee,
Thou beautiful nymph of Cloghroe.

Now aid me, ye country grammarians !
Your learned assistance I claim,

To know the bright name of this fair one-
This charming young damsel of fame.
Two mutes and a liquid united,

Ingeniously placed in a row,
Spell part of the name of this phoenix,
The beautiful maid of Cloghroe.

A diphthong and three semivowels
Will give us this cynosure's name--
This charming Hibernian beauty,
This lovely, this virtuous young dame.
Had Jupiter heard of this fair one,
He'd descend from Olympus, I know,

To solicit this juvenile phoenix-
This beautiful maid of Cloghroe.

C

JENNY FROM BALLINASLOE

This reads remarkably like a conscious burlesque on the hedge schoolmaster's style of love poem.

You lads that are funny, and call maids your honey,
Give ear for a moment; I'll not keep you long.
I'm wounded by Cupid; he has made me stupid;
To tell you the truth now, my brain's nearly wrong.
A neat little posy, who does live quite cosy,

Has kept me unable to go to and fro;
Each day I'm declining, in love I'm repining,
For nice little Jenny from Ballinasloe.

It was in September, I'll ever remember,
I went out to walk by a clear river side
For sweet recreation, but, to my vexation,
This wonder of Nature I quickly espied;
I stood for to view her an hour, I'm sure :
The earth could not show such a damsel, I know,
As that little girl, the pride of the world,

Called nice little Jenny from Ballinasloe.

I said to her 'Darling! this is a nice morning;
The birds sing enchanting, which charms the groves ;
Their notes do delight me, and you do invite me,
Along this clear water some time for to rove.
Your beauty has won me, and surely undone me;
If you won't agree for to cure my sad woe,
So great is my sorrow, I'll ne'er see to-morrow,
My sweet little Jenny from Ballinasloe.'

'Sir, I did not invite you, nor yet dare not slight you;
You're at your own option to act as you please :
I am not ambitious, nor e'er was officious;

I am never inclined to disdain or to tease.

I love conversation, likewise recreation;

I'm free with a friend, and I'm cold with a foe ;
But virtue's my glory, and will be till I'm hoary,'
Said nice little Jenny from Ballinasloe.

'Most lovely of creatures! your beautiful features

Have sorely attracted and captured my heart;
If you won't relieve me, in truth you may b'lieve me,
Bewildered in sorrow till death I must smart;
I'm at your election, so grant me protection,

And feel for a creature that's tortured in woe.
One smile it will heal me; one frown it will kill me ;
Sweet, nice little Jenny from Ballinasloe!'

'Sir, yonder's my lover; if he should discover
Or ever take notice you spoke unto me,
He'd close your existence in spite of resistance;

Be pleased to withdraw, then, lest he might you see.
You see, he's approaching; then don't be encroaching
He has his large dog and his gun there also.
Although you're a stranger, I wish you from danger,'
Said nice little Jenny from Ballinasloe.

I bowed then genteelly, and thanked her quite freely;
I bid her adieu, and took to the road;

So great was my trouble my pace I did double ;

My heart was oppressed and sank down with the load, For ever I'll mourn for beauteous Jane Curran,

And ramble about in affection and woe,

And think on the hour I saw that sweet flower,
My dear little Jenny from Ballinasloe!

THE BOYNE WATER

Sir Charles Gavan Duffy rightly observes that these fragments of the original 'Boyne Water' are far more racy and spirited than the song by Colonel Blacker which has superseded them.

July the First, of a morning clear, one thousand six hundred and ninety,

King William did his men prepare-of thousands he had thirtyTo fight King James and all his foes, encamped near the Boyne Water

He little fear'd, though two to one, their multitudes to scatter.