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Ne'er think on the dangers attending the boys,
I went, that damnable place,
Tol loo ral lal loo, &c. Away to the tender they made me repair, Of tenderness devil a morsel was there ; I roar'd and I curs'd, but it did not avail, And down in the cellar cramm'd Paddy O'Neal. They call’d up all hands, hands and feet soon obey'd, I wish'd myself home cutting turf with my spade, The first thing I saw made my courage to fail, "Twas a large floating castle for Paddy O'Neal.
Tol loo ral lal loo, &c. I let go my hands to hold fast by my toes, The ship took a rowl, and away my head goes, I fell in the water, and splash'd like a whale, And with boat-hooks they fish'd up poor Paddy O'
Neal. For a bed they'd a sack hung as high as my chin, They call'd it a hammock, and bid me get in, I laid hould, took a leap, but my footing being frail, I swung me clean over, poor Paddy O'Neal.
Tol loo ral lal lo, &c. *Up hammocks, down chests!' the boatswain did
bawl, • There's a French ship in sight! tunder, an' nuns, is
that all ? To a gun I was station'd, they uncover'd her tail, And the leading-strings gave to poor Paddy O'Neal. The captain cries, ' England and Ireland, my boys! Oh! when he mention'd ould Ireland, my heart made
a noise, I clapp'd fire on her back, while I held by her tail, The damn'd devil new out, and threw Paddy O'Neal.
Tol loo ral lal loo, &c.
So we leather'd away, by my soul, hob or nob,
THE BIRDS ARE SINGING SWEET, MY LOVE.
The birds are singing sweet, my love ;
The flowers are fresh and gay;
For 'tis the month of May.
Yet ev'ry thing looks drear;
That Agnes is not here.
On this auspicious day;
I'll welcome in the May,
And joyous darts his rays,
To join in Nature's praise.
THE MAIDEN I LOVE. The maiden I love is the theme of my lay,
She is blooming and fair as the morn just begun, Her eyes soft and bright as the first beam of day, And her ringlets like dark clouds that curl round
Like heaven's own light, when heaven is most brigiit,
Her smiles such a brilliancy every where throw ; In the depth of her eyes a divinity lies,
And a god seems to dwell on her beautiful brow. Such, such is the maiden I live to adore,
And I prize her the wealth of the world above ; I have told her-I've sworn all this o'er and o'er,
Yet she smiles on my sorrow and not on my love. The hope of my heart may in sadness depart,
While it beats it will cherish her memory still, Though its efforts may die, and its best feelings lie,
Like the ocean round Hecla, eternally chill.
WHEN THY BOSOM.
WHEN thy bosom heaves a sigh,
THE TEMPERANCE SOCIETY TEE
TOTALIST. John Jones was a farmer, and highly respectable, Always in spirits, and never dejectable ; One of those men who would never annoy himself, But o'er his pipe and his glass would enjoy himself. Ever found suber, disliking all dizzinessRising each morn with a clear head for business ; He honour'd his king, as he loved to be national, And lived like a being disposed to be rational.
John Jones had a wife, full and pleasant in feature,
leaves, To go home and smoke his pipe over his tea-leaves. His wife saw with sorrow the change that took place
in him, Until she at length could no cheerfulness trace in him ; He got dull and mopish, drank slops to satiety, Which made the dame curse the tee-totalist society. The winter came on, his great coat he look'd thin in it, He still swallow'd water without any gin in it; The consequence was, though not given to larketing, He died one cold night after coming from marketing. The wife, broken-hearted, to find thus her joys end, Call'd in the doctors, declared he'd been poison'dHis body they open'd, and found, besides blow galls, His inside was stuff'd full of tea-leaves and snow-balls. My moral is plain-had John lived and enjoy'd himself, He bad ne'er like a fool or a madman destroy'd himself,
This proves his rank folly—from nature he canght a rub,
BONNIE JEANIE GRAY.
O WHAR was ye sae late yestreen,
My bonnie Jeanie Gray ?
And eke at break o’ day.
Your faither dull and wae-
Your mither look'd, &c.
And let naebody ken,
To wed young Jamie Glen.
What heart could say him nay?
The melting tear, &c.
COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE.
Every lassie has her laddie,
Nane, they say,
ha'e 1 ;