Oh! say, would you find this same Blarney? There's a castle not far from Killarney; On the top of its wall (But take care you do n't fall) There's a stone that contains all this blarney. Like a magnet, it influence such is, That attraction it gives all it touches; If you kiss it, they say, That from that blessed day You may kiss whom you please, with your blarney. THE MEN OF TIPPERARY. AIR-Nora Criena. LET Britain boast her British hosts, About them all right little care we; Not British seas, nor British coasts, Can match THE MAN OF TIPPERARY. Tall is his form, his heart is warm That sweeps THE HILLS OF TIPPERARY. Let woe or want oppress his friends, Though State and Fate proclaim de spair, he, Against them all "the Pass" defends, And rights THE WRONGS OF TIP PERARY. Yet meet him in his cabin rude, Or dancing with his dark-haired Mary, You'd swear they knew no other mood Than mirth and LOVE IN TIPPERARY. Soft is his girl's sunny eye, Her mien is mild, her step is airy, Her heart is fond, her soul is high ; Oh! she's THE PRIDE OF TIPPERARY. You're free to share his scanty meal; Send him to fight for native land-- The headlong CHARGE OF TIPPERARY. Let Britain brag her motley rag; airy ;— Be mine the lot to bear that flag, Though Britain boasts her British hosts, ARRANMORE. THOMAS MOORE. ОH! Arranmore, loved Arranmore, How blithe upon thy breezy cliffs Have sought that Eden in its light, That Eden where th' immortal brave Whose bowers beyond the shining wave, Ah, dream, too, full of saddening truth! THE FAIRY BOY.* SAMUEL LOVER. A MOTHER came when the stars were paling, Wailing round a lonely spring; Thus she cried while tears were falling, "Why with spells my child caressing, When a beautiful child pines and dies, the Irish peasant believes the healthy infant has been stolen by the fairies, and a sickly elf left in its place. "O'er the mountain, through the wildwood, Where his childhood loved to play; Where the flowers are freshly springing, There I wander day by day. "There I wander, growing fonder "But in vain my plaintive calling, KATE O'BRIEN. CHAS. JEFFREYS. PERHAPS you don't know there's a sweet little stream, Far down in a dell, where a poet might dream; A nate little cabin, stands close to the tide, |