Joseph Callanan
LOVE SONG
Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers,
Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through her hair;
Sleeps she and hears not the melancholy numbers
Breathed to my sad lute 'mid the lonely air.
Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming
To wind round the willow banks that lure him from above;
O that in tears, from my rocky prison streaming,
I too could glide to the bower of my love!
Ah, where the woodbines with sleepy arms have wound her,
Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay,
Listening, like the dove, while the fountains echo round her,
To her lost mate's call in the forests far away.
Come then, my bird! For the peace thou ever bearest,
Still heaven's messenger of comfort to me,
Come, this fond bosom, O faithfulest and fairest
Bleeds with its death-wound its wound of love for thee!
George Darley
THE WHISTLIN' THIEF
When Pat came over the hill,
His colleen fair to see,
His whistle low, but shrill,
The signal was to be;
(Pat whistles.)
'Mary,' the mother said,
'Some one is whistling sure;'
Says Mary, '’Tis only the wind
Is whistling through the door.'
(Pat whistles a bit of a popular air.)
'I've lived a long time, Mary,
In this wide world, my dear,
But a door to whistle like that I never yet did hear.'
'But, mother, you know the fiddle
Hangs close beside the chink,
And the wind upon the strings
Is playing the tune I think.'
(The pig grunts.)
'Mary, I hear the pig,
Unaisy in his mind.'
'But, mother, you know, they say
The pigs can see the wind.'
'That's true enough in the day, But I think you may remark, That pigs no more nor we Can see anything in the dark.'
(The dog barks.)
'The dog is barking now,
The fiddle can't play the tune.'
'But, mother, the dogs will bark
Whenever they see the moon.'
'But how could he see the moon,
When, you know, the dog is blind?
Blind dogs won't bark at the moon,
Nor fiddles be played by the wind.
'I'm not such a fool as you think,
I know very well it is Pat:—
Shut your mouth, you whistlin' thief,
And go along home out o' that!
'And you be off to your bed,
Don't play upon me your jeers;
For though I have lost my eyes,
I haven't lost my ears!'
Samuel Lover
SOGGARTH AROON
Am I the slave they say,
Soggarth aroon?
Since you did show the way,
Soggarth aroon,
Their slave no more to be, While they would work with me Old Ireland's slavery, Soggarth aroon.
Why not her poorest man,
Soggarth aroon,
Try and do all he can,
Soggarth aroon,
Her commands to fulfil
Of his own heart and will,
Side by side with you still
Soggarth aroon?
Loyal and brave to you,
Soggarth aroon,
Yet be not slave to you,
Soggarth aroon,
Nor, out of fear to you—
Stand up so near to you—
Och! out of fear to you, Soggarth aroon!
Who, in the winter's night,
Soggarth aroon,
When the cold blast did bite,
Soggarth aroon,
Came to my cabin-door,
And, on my earthen-floor,
Knelt by me, sick and poor,
Soggarth aroon?
Who, on the marriage
