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And wherever Molly was he was there.
His face was round, and his build was square,
And he sported as rare
And tight a pair
Of legs, to be sure, as are found anywhere.
And Jemmy would wear
His caubeen and hair,
With such a peculiar and rollicking air,
That I'd venture to swear
Not a girl in Kildare,
Nor Victoria's self, if she chanced to be there,
Could resist his wild way-called “Devil may care."
Not a boy in the parish could match him for fun,
Nor wrestle, nor leap, nor hurl, nor run
With Jemmy--No gorsoon could equal him--None.
At wake or at wedding, at feast or at fight,
At throwing the sledge with such dextrous sleight, He was the envy of men, and the women's delight.
Now Molly Muldoon liked Jemmy O'Hare,
And in troth Jemmy loved in his heart Miss Muldoon. I believe in my conscience a purtier pair Never danced in a tent at a pattern in June,
To a bagpipe or fiddle
On the rough cabin door
That is placed in the middle.--
talk as ye will,
There's a grace in the limbs of the peasantry there
With which People of Quality couldn't compare.
And Molly and Jemmy were counted the two
That would keep up the longest, and go the best through
All the jigs and the reels
That have occupied heels
Since the days of the Murtaghs and Brian Boru.
An Irislı courtship's short and sweet,
It's sometimes foolish and indiscreet;
But who is wise when his young heart's heat
Whips the pulse to a galloping beat-
Ties up his judgment neck and feet,
And makes him the slave of a blind conceit?
Sneer not, therefore, at the loves of the poor,
Though their manners be rude their affections are pure;
They look not by art, and they love not by rule,
For their souls are not tempered in fashion's cold school.
0! give me the love that endures no control
But the delicate instinct that springs from the soul,
As the mountain stream gushes its freshness and force,
Yet obedient, wherever it flows, to its source.
Yes, give me the love that but nature has taught,
By rank unallured and by riches unbought;
Whose very simplicity keeps it secure-
The love that illumines the hearts of the poor.
All blushful was Molly, or shy at least,
As one week before Lent
Jem procured her consent
To go the next Sunday and spake to the priest.
Shrove-Tuesday was named for the wedding to be,
And it dawned as bright as they'd wish to see.
And Jemmy was up at the day's first peep,
For the livelong night no wink could he sleep.
A bran new coat, with a bright big button,
He took from a chest and carefully put on--
And brogues as well lampblacked as ever went foot on,
Were greased with the fat of a quare sort of mutton !
Then a tidier gorsoon couldn't be seen
Treading the Emerald Sod so green--
Light was his step and bright was his eye
As he walked through the slobbery streets of Athy;
And each girl he passed bid “God bless him” and sighed,
While she wished in her heart that herself was the bride.
Hush! here's the Priest-let not the least
Whisper be heard till the Father has ceased.
“Come, bridegroom and bride,
That the knot may be tied
Which no power upon earth can hereafter divide.”
Up rose the bride and the bridegroom too,
And a passage was made for them both to walk through;
And his Rev'rence stood with a sanctified face,
Which spread its infection around the place.
The bridesmaid bustled and whispered the bride,
Who felt so confused that she almost cried,
But at last bore up and walked forward, where
The Father was standing with solemn air;
The bridegroom was following after with pride,
When his piercing eye something awful espied !
He stopped and sighed,
Looked round and tried
To tell what he saw, but his tongue denied:
With a spring and a roar
He jumped to the door, AND THE BRIDE LAID HER EYES ON THE BRIDEGROOM NO MORE!
Some years sped on,
Yet heard no one,
Of Jemmy O'Hare, or where he had gone.
But since the night of that widow'd feast,
The strength of poor Molly bad ever decreas'd;
Till, at length, from earth's sorrow her soul, releas'd,
Fled up to be ranked with the saints at least.
And the morning poor Molly to live had ceased,
Just five years after the widow'd feast,
An American letter was brought to the priest,
Telling of Jemmy O'Hare deceas'd!
Who, ere his death,
With his latest breath,
To a spiritual father unburdened his breast,
And the cause of his sudden departure confest,-
“0! Father!” says he, “ I've not long to live,
So I'll freely confess, and hope you'll forgive.--
That same Molly Muldoon; sure I loved her indeed;
Ay, as well as the Creed
That was never forsaken by one of my breed ;
But I couldn't have married her after I saw
“ Saw what !” cried the Father, desirous to hear
And the chair that he sat in unconsciously rocking -
“Not in her · karàcter,' yer Rev'rince, a flaw”-
The sick man here dropped a significant tear,
And died as he whispered in the clergyman's ear--
“ But I saw, God forgive her, A HOLE IN HER STOCKING!"
“RIFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot,
Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;
Ring me a ball in the glittering spot
That shines on his breast like an amulet!”
“Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead,
There's music around when my rifle's in tune!”
Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped,
And dead from his horse fell the ranging dragoon.
“Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch
From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood;
A button, a loop, or that luminous patch
That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!”
Oh, captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track,
When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette,
For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,
That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.
“But I snatched off the trinket,—this locket of gold;
An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,
Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,
Of a beautiful lady in bridal array."
“Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket !tis she,
My brother's young bride,—and the fallen dragoon
Was her husband-Hush! soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree;
We must bury hin there, by the light of the moon !
“But, hark! the far bugles their warnings unite;
War is a virtue, weakness a sin;
There's a lurking and loping around us to-night ;-
Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!”
THE RETURNING JANIZARY.-FRANCES BROWN.
HERE came a youth at dawn of day
From the Golden Gate of the proud Serai :-
He came with no gifts of warrior pride
But the gleam of the good sword by his side,
And an arm that well could wield;
But he came with a form of matchless mould-
Like that by the Delphian shrine of old-
And an eye in whose depth of brightness shone
The light by the Grecian sunset thrown
On the dying Spartan's shield ;-
For the days of his boyhood's bonds were o'er,
And he stood as a free-born Greek once more!
They brought him robes of the richest dyes,
And a shield like the moon in autumn skies,
A steed that grew by the Prophet's tomb,
And a helmet crown’d with a heron's plume,
And the world's strong tempter, Gold ;
And they said—“Since thou turnest from the towers
Of honor's path and pleasure's bowers,
Go forth in the Spahi’s conquering march-
And gold and glory requite thy search,
Till a warrior's death unfold
For thee the gates of Paradise,
And thy welcome beam'd by the Houris' eyes."-
“ And where will the yearning memories sleep,
That have filld mine exiled years
With a voice of winds in the forest free,
With the sound of the old Ægean sea,
Through echoing grove and green defile,
On the shores of that unforgotten Isle
Which still the light of my mother's smile
To her wanderer's memory wears ; -
And the voices ever sounding back
From my country's old triumphal track?
The faith that clings with a deathless hold