The parson, priest, sub-sheriff too,

Were all her slaves, and so would you,
had only but one view

If you

Of such a face or shape, or

Her pretty ancles—but, alone,

It's only west of old Athlone

Such girls were found-and now they're gone-
So, here's to Mary Draper!

"Time has not handed down any particulars of Phelim O'Neile, here commemorated, except that he was descended from that powerful family which so long ruled Ireland with sovereign sway. The violent commotions of the seventeenth century struck to the dust the topmost branch of this great Millesian tree."-Hardiman's Minstrelsy.

PADDY THE PIPER.

WHEN I was a boy in my father's mud edifice,
Tender and bare as a pig in a stye,

Out of the door as I look'd with a steady phiz,
Who but Pat Murphy, the piper, came by!
Says Paddy "but few play

This music-can you play ?"

Says I, "I can't tell, for I never did try."
He told me that he had a charm

To make the pipes prettily speak;
So he squeez'd a bag under his arm,
And sweetly they set up a squeak.
With my farala, larala-la;

Oh hone, how he handled the drone,
And then such sweet music he blew-

'Twould have melted the heart of a stone.

"Your pipe," says I, "Paddy, so neatly comes over me,
Naked I'll wander wherever it blows,

And if that my father should try to discover me,
Sure it won't be by describing my clothes:
For the music I hear now,

Takes hold of my ear, now,

And leads me all over the world by the nose."
So I followed the bagpipes so sweet,
And sung, as I leap'd like a frog,

"Adieu to my family seat,

So pleasantly plac'd in a bog."

With my, &c.

Full five years I followed him, nothing could sunder us,
Till he one morning had taken a sup,

And slipp'd from a bridge in a river, right under us,
Souse to the bottom, just like a blind pup:

I roar'd and I bawl'd out

And lustily called out,

"Oh, Paddy, my jew'l! don't you mean to come up?"
He was dead as a nail in a door.

Poor Paddy was laid on the shelf,

So I took up his pipes on the shore,
And now I've set up for myself.
With my farala, larala-la ;

Och, may be Í haven't the knack
To play faralla, larala-la,

Aye, and bubberoo, dideroo, whack.

This was a popular song some half-century ago, and I have heard that it was a favourite

one among those of the once-celebrated "Jack Johnson," or, as he was often called, “Irish Johnson."

In battle's wild commotion,

The proud and mighty Mars,

With hostile scythes, demands his tithes
Of death-in warlike cars;

While Peggy, peaceful goddess,

Has darts in her bright eye,

That knock men down, in the market town, As right and left they fly

While she sits in her low-backed car,
Than battle more dangerous far—
For the doctor's art

Cannot cure the heart

That is hit from that low-backed car.

Sweet Peggy, round her car, sir,
Has strings of ducks and geese,
But the scores of hearts she slaughters
By far out-number these;
While she among her poultry sits,
Just like a turtle dove,

Well worth the cage, I do engage,
Of the blooming god of love!
While she sits in her low-backed car,
The lovers come near and far,
And envy the chicken
That Peggy is pickin',

As she sits in the low-backed car.

O, I'd rather own that car, sir,

With Peggy by my side,

Than a coach-and-four and goold galore,*

And a lady for my bride;

For the lady would sit forninst† me,

On a cushion made with taste,

While Peggy would sit beside me

With my arm around her waist

While we drove in the low-backed car,
To be married by Father Maher,‡
Oh, my heart would beat high
At her glance and her sigh-
Though it beat in a low-backed car.

In defence of my rhyme, I must tell English readers that this name is pronounced as if written, Mar.

THE SPRIG OF SHILLELAH.

EDWARD LYSAGHT.

OH! love is the soul of a neat Irishman,

He loves all that is lovely, loves all that he can,

With his sprig of Shillelah and shamrock so green!

His heart is good-humoured, 'tis honest and sound,
No envy or malice is there to be found;

He courts and he marries, he drinks and he fights,
For love, all for love, for in that he delights,

With his sprig of Shillelah and shamrock so green!
Who has e'er had the luck to see Donnybrook Fair?
An Irishman, all in his glory, is there,

With his sprig of Shillelah and shamrock so green!
His clothes spick and span new, without e'er a speck,
A neat Barcelona tied round his white neck;

He goes to a tent, and he spends half-a-crown,
He meets with a friend, and for love knocks him down,
With his sprig of Shillelah and shamrock so green!

At evening returning, as homeward he goes,
His heart soft with whiskey, his head soft with blows

From a sprig of Shillelah and shamrock so green!
He meets with his Sheelah, who, frowning a smile,
Cries, "Get ye gone, Pat," yet consents all the while.
To the priest soon they go, and nine months after that,
A baby cries out "How d'ye do, father Pat,

With your sprig of Shillelah and shamrock so green ?"

Bless the country, say I, that gave Patrick his birth,
Bless the land of the oak, and its neighbouring earth,

Where grow the Shillelah and shamrock so green!
May the sons of the Thames, the Tweed, and the Shannon,
Drub the foes who dare plant on our confines a cannon;
United and happy, at Loyalty's shrine,

May the Rose and the Thistle long flourish and twine
Round the sprig of Shillelah and shamrock so green!

This song was once very popular, and Sir Jonah Barrington, in his amusing "Personal Sketches of His Own Times," thinks it worthy of this especial notice :-"It is admirably and truly descriptive of the low Irish character, and never was that class so well depicted in so few words." This praise the song certainly does not deserve. It is based rather on the conventional Irish songs of the time, than drawn from life-but, as having enjoyed a certain reputation, within the memory of the living, it must appear in a national collection of this present time. But there are many in this volume more comic, more witty, and more Irish in every respect; and it is pleasing to find that the true comic character of the Irish people has been, since Lysaght's time, much better given, and much better received. As Mr. Lysaght elsewhere gets full credit for his merits, there is the less hesitation in saying, here, that this song is not worthy of his reputation.