O should it please the pitying pow'rs to call me to the sky,

I'd claim a guardian angel's charge around my love to fly;

To guard him from all dangers, how happy should I be!
For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

I'll make a strawy garland, I'll make it wondrous fine;
With roses, lilies, daisies, I'll mix the eglantine;
And I'll present it to my love when he returns from

sea;

For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

Oh, if I were a little bird, to build upon his breast! Or if I were a nightingale, to sing my love to rest! To gaze upon his lovely eyes, all my reward should

be;

For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

Oh, if I were an eagle, to soar into the sky! I'd gaze around with piercing eyes where I my love might spy;

But ah, unhappy maiden! that love you ne'er shall

see;

Yet I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

PADDY'S TRIP FROM DUBLIN.

TUNE" The Priest in his boots."

'Twas bus❜ness requir'd I'd from Dublin be straying,
I bargain'd the captain to sail pretty quick,
But just at the moment the anchor was weighing,
A spalpeen, he wanted to play me a trick.

Says he, Paddy, go down stairs and fetch me some beer

now;

Says I, by my shoul you're monstratiously kind; Then you'll sail away, and I'll look mighty queer now, When I come up and see myself all left behind.

With my palliluh, whilliluh, whilliluh, palliluh,
Whack, boderation, and Langolee.

A storm met the ship, and did so dodge her,
Says the captain, We'll sink, or be all cast away;
Thinks I, Never mind, 'cause I'm only a lodger,
And my life is insur'd, so the office must pay.
But a taef who was sea-sick kick'd up such a riot,
Tho' I lay quite sea-sick and speechless, poor elf,
I could not help bawling, You spalpeen, be quiet;
Do
you think that there's nobody dead but yourself?
With my palliluh, &c.

Well, we got safe on shore, every son of his mother,
There I found an old friend, Mr. Paddy Macgee;
Och Dermot, says he, is it you or your brother?
Says I, I've a mighty great notion it's me.

Then I told him the bull we had made of our journey,
But to bull-making, Irishmen always bear blame;
Says he, My good friend, though we've bulls in Hibernia,
They've cuckolds in England, and that's all the same.
With my palliluh, &c.

But from all sorts of cuckoldom Heaven preserve us,
For John Bull and Paddy Bull's both man and wife,
And
every brave fellow who's kill'd in their service
Is sure of a pension the rest of his life.

Then who, in defence of a pair of such hearties,
Till he'd no legs to stand on, would e'er run away?
Then a fig for the war, and **** Bonaparte!
King George and the Union shall carry the day.
With my palliluh, &c.

KATE KEARNEY.

O DID you not hear of Kate Kearney?
She lives on the banks of Killarney;
From the glance of her eye,
Shun danger and fly,

For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney.
For that eye is so modestly beaming,
You'd ne'er think of mischief she's dreaming;
Yet oh! I can tell,

How fatal the spell

That lurks in the eye of Kate Kearney.

Oh, should you e'er meet this Kate Kearney, Who lives on the banks of Killarney,

Beware of her smile,

For many a wile

Lies hid in the smile of Kate Kearney.
Though she looks so bewitchingly simple,
There's mischief in ev'ry dimple;
And who dares inhale
Her mouth's spicy gale,

Must die by the breath of Kate Kearney.

ANSWER.

Он, yes! I have seen this Kate Kearney,
Who lives near the lake of Killarney;
From her love-beaming eye

What mortal can fly,

Unsubdued by the glance of Kate Kearney?
For that eye, so seducingly beaming,
Assures me of mischief she's dreaming,
And I feel 'tis in vain

To fly from the chain

That binds me to lovely Kate Kearney.

At eve when I've met this Kate Kearney,
On the flow'r-mantled banks of Killarney,
Her smile would impart
Thrilling joy to my heart,

As I gaz'd on the charming Kate Kearney.
On the banks of Killarney reclining,
My bosom to rapture resigning,

I've felt the keen smart

Of love's fatal dart,

And inhal'd the warm sigh of Kate Kearney.

THE EXIL'D IRISHMAN'S LAMENTATION.

TUNE-" Erin go Bragh."

GREEN were the fields where my forefathers dwelt, oh! Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh!

*

Though our farm it was small, yet comforts we felt, oh!
Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh!

At length came the day when our lease did expire,
And fain would I live where before liv'd my sire;
But ah, well-a-day! I was forc'd to retire:

Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh.

Tho' all taxes I paid, yet no vote could I pass, oh!
Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh !
Aggrandiz'd no great man, and I feel it alas, oh!
Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh!

Forc'd from my home, yea, from where I was born,
range the wide world, poor, helpless, forlorn,

Το

I look back with regret, and my heart-strings are torn: Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh.

*Ireland my darling, for ever adieu.

With principles pure, patriotic, and firm,
Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh!
Attach'd to my country, a friend to reform,
Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh!

I supported old Ireland, was ready to die for❜t;
If her foes e'er prevail'd, I was well known to sigh for❜t;
But my faith I preserv'd, and am now forc'd to fly for't:
Erin ma vourneen, slan laght go bragh!

IRISH PROVIDENCE.

TUNE-" Sprig of Shillelah."

My darling, says Pat, to his spouse on his lap,
At this present writing we're not worth a rap,

With our faces so lean, and our duds on our backs.
Our cow and our pig, my dear Norah, are dead,
Not a single paratoe is left us for bread;
The science of ploughing my father taught me,
So I'll e'en try the water, and plough the salt sea,
With my Jill, sing Jack, sing Bibligo whack.

Says Norah, when you're on the ocean, my life,
Sure Providence then will take care of your wife;
For no babies have we, not a Jill nor a Jack.
But when Pat was away, what did Providence do,
Made the squire build for Norah, a cabin quite new;
He furnish'd it gaily to dry up her tears,

And he peopl'd it too in the space of three years.
With his Jill, sing Jack, &c.

But when Paddy return'd, how it gladden'd his heart, To see his dear Norah so fine and so smart;

With her rings in her ears, and her silks on her back. And who furnish'd for you this cabin, says Pat? 'Twas Providence, says Norah, himself that did that: