Happy the man who has a friend, Then as our hands in friendship join, Willie brew'd a Peck o' Maut. O Willie brew'd a peck o' maut Here are we met, three merry boys, It is the moon, I ken her horn, Wha first shall rise to gang awa, We My Emmet's no more. Despair in her wild eye, a daughter of Erin* Appear'd on the cliffs of the bleak rocky shore; Loose in the wind flow'd her dark streaming ringlets, And heedless she gaz'd on the dread surge's roar. Loud rang her harp in wild tones of despairing; The time pass'd away with the present comparing, And in soul-thrilling strains deeper sorrow declaring, She sang Erin's woes and her Emmet no more. O, Erin my country, your glory's departed; For tyrants and traitors have stabb'd thy heart's core; Thy daughters have laved in the streams of affliction, Thy patriots have fled, or lie stretch'd in their gore. Ruthless ruffians now prowl thro' thy hamlets forsaken, From pale hungry orphans their last morsel have taken; The screams of thy females no pity awaken. Alas! my poor country, your Emmet's no more. Brave was his spirit, yet mild as the Brahmin, His heart bled in anguish the wrongs of the poor; To relieve their hard sufferings he brav'd every danger, The vengeance of tyrants undauntedly bore. E'en before him the proud titled villains in power Were seen, though in ermine, in terror to cower; But alas! he is gone-he has fallen a young flower, They have murder'd my Emmet, my Emmet's no more. The Soldier's Bride. The moon was beaming silver bright, Daughter of Mr. Curran, the celebrated Irish orator, to whom, it was supposed, Mr. Robert Emmet was engaged to be married. Her lover's step in silent night, Beneath the tower, "He murmur'd soft, "Oh, nothing fearing, List! list, list, love; list! dear, 'tis I; Then whisper'd Love, "Oh, maiden fair, Yon gallant steed, That champs the rein, delay reproving, List! list, list, love; list! dear, 'tis I; And now the gallant Soldier's Bride, When 'neath the tower, He whisper'd soft, "Oh, nothing fearing, List! list, list, love; list! dear, 'tis I; She says she loves me best of a?. Sae flaxen were her ring.ets Her eyebrows of a darker hue, Bewitchingly o'erarching Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. Wad make a wretch forget his wo; Her pretty ancle is a spy, Wad make a saint forget the sky. Sae warming, sae charming, Her faultless form and gracefu' air; Declar'd that she could do nae mair: Let others love the city, And gaudy show at sunny noon; Gie me the lonely valley, The dewy eve, and rising moon Fair beaming, and streaming, Her silver light the boughs amang; While falling, recalling The amorous thrush concludes his sang: There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, And hear my vows o' truth and love, Croos-keen Lawn. Let the farmer praise his grounds, As the huntsman does his hounds, And the shepherd his sweet-scented lawn, While I more blest than they, Spend each happy night and day, With my smiling little Croos-keen lawn, lawn,lawn, Oh, my smiling little Croos-keen lawn. Leante ruma Croos-keen Sleante gar ma voor meh neen Agus gramachree ma cooleen ban, ban, ban, In court with manly grace, Should Sir Toby plade his case, And the merits of his cause make known, Without his cheerful glass, He'd be stupid as an ass, So he takes a little croos-keen lawn. Leante ruma, &c. Then fill your glasses high, Let's not part with lips so dry, Though the lark should proclaim it is dawn, But if we can't remain, May we shortly meet again, To fill another Croos-keen lawn. And when grim death appears, And tells me my glass it is run, I'll say, begone you slave, For great Bacchus gives me lave |