And she dwells in Bal'nagar;

And she bears the palm of beauty bright

From the fairest that in Erin are.

In Bal'nagar is the Coolun,

Like the berry on the bough her cheek; Bright beauty dwells forever

On her fair neck and ringlets sleek : O, sweeter is her mouth's soft music Than the lark or thrush at dawn, Or the blackbird in the greenwood singing Farewell to the setting sun!

Rise up, my boy, make ready

My horse, for I forth would ride, To follow the modest damsel

Where she walks on the green hill-side; Forever since our youth were we plighted, In faith, troth, and wedlock true.

O, she's sweeter to me nine times over
Than organ or cuckoo !

O, ever since my

childhood

I loved the fair and darling child,

But our people came between us,

And with lucre our pure love defiled: O, my woe it is and my bitter pain, And I weep it night and day, That the coleen bawn of my early love Is torn from my heart away.

Sweetheart and faithful treasure,
Be constant still, and true;

Nor for want of herds and houses

Leave one who would ne 'er leave you :
I'd pledge you the blessed Bible,

Without and eke within,

That the faithful God will provide for us
Without thanks to kith or kin!

When we lay all night alone,

Beneath the ash in the winter storm,

When the oak wood round did groan?
No shelter then from the blast had we,
The bitter blast and sleet,

But your gown to wrap about our heads,
And
my coat round our feet.

O LOVED MAID OF BRAKA.

ANON. TRANS. BY HECTOR MACNEILL.

The original of this is to be found in Bunting's collection of "Ancient Music of Ireland," though the translation is by a Scotch poet.

O LOVED maid of Braka, each fair one excelling!

The blush on thy cheek shames apples' soft blossoms, More sweet than the rosebuds that decked thy loved dwelling!

Thy lips shame their beauties, — thy breath their perfume.

Come, bird of the morning, sweet thrush, void of sorrow,
Come, greet her approach to thy flower-scented thorn,
And teach her, fond warbler, thy loved notes to borrow,
To banish her coldness, and soften her scorn.

O, perched on thy green bough, each loved mate delighting,
Thou blest, happy bird! could I change but with thee!
But alas! whilst fast-fettered each prospect is blighting,
I would rather than Ireland again I were free!

But adieu! though my hopes, by thy coldness and scorning,
Fall, faded like blossoms half-blown on the tree,
May love bless you ever, though it blighted my morning,
I would rather than Ireland once more I were free.

MOLLY ASTORE.

ASCRIBED TO CORMAC O'CON. TRANS. BY SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON.

The origin of this song is supposed to be very ancient, and the air is a remarkable favorite, to which songs have been written by Sheridan, Burns, Moore, Hon. George Ogle, and Rev. Charles Wolfe. The title signifies "Mary, my Treasure."

O MARY dear! O Mary fair!

O branch of generous stem!

White blossom of the banks of Nair,
Though lilies grow on them;
You've left me sick at heart for love,

So faint I cannot see;

The candle swims the board above,

I'm drunk for love of thee!

O stately stem of maiden pride,
My woe it is and pain

That I thus severed from thy side
The long night must remain.

Through all the towns of Innisfail
I've wandered far and wide,

But from Downpatrick to Kinsale,

From Carlow to Kilbride,

Many lords and dames of high degree

Where'er my feet have gone,

My Mary, one to equal thee

I never looked upon :

I live in darkness and in doubt

Whene'er my love 's away;

But were the gracious sun put out,
Her shadow would make day.

"T is she, indeed, young bud of bliss,
And gentle as she's fair.
Though lily-white her bosom is,
And sunny bright her hair,
And dewy azure her blue eye,
And rosy red her cheek,
Yet brighter she in modesty,

More beautifully meek!

The world's wise men from north to south

Can never cure my pain;

But one kiss from her honey mouth
Would make me well again.

CEAN DUBH DHEELISH.*

ANON. TRANS. BY SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON.

PUT your head, darling, darling, darling,
Your darling black head my heart above;
O mouth of honey, with the thyme for fragrance,
Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love?

* Pronounced Cawn dhu deelish, Dear black head.

O, many and many a young girl for me is pining, Letting her locks of gold to the cold wind free, For me, the foremost of our gay young fellows, But I'd leave a hundred, pure love, for thee! Then put your head, darling, darling, darling,

-

Your darling black head my heart above; O mouth of honey, with the thyme for fragrance, Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love?

THE MAID OF BALLYHAUNIS.

ANON. TRANS. BY EDWARD WALSHE.

My Mary dear! for thee I die,

O, place thy hand in mine, love!
My fathers here were chieftains high,
Then to my plaints incline, love.
O Plaited-hair! that now we were
In wedlock's band united,

For, maiden mine, in grief I'll pine,
Until our vows are plighted!

Thou Rowan-bloom, since thus I rove,
All worn and faint to greet thee,
Come to these arms, my constant love,
With love as true to meet me!
Alas my head!-its wits are fled,
I've failed in filial duty.

My sire did say, "Shun, shun, for aye
That Ballyhaunis beauty!"

But thy Cúilin bán I marked one day,

Where the blooms of the bean-field cluster,