"I beg you withdraw, and do not tease me, I cannot consent unto thee; I prefer to live single and airy, Said the colleen dhas cruthin amoe. "A young maid is like a ship sailing, She don't know how long she may steer, For in every blast she is in danger, So consent, and love me, my dear. For riches I care not a farthing; Your affections I want, and no more ; In wedlock I wish to bind you, Sweet colleen dhas cruthin amoe !" PAT MALLOY. Ar sixteen years of age, er's fair-hair'd boy; I was my moth She kept a little huckster shop, her name it was Malloy, I've fourteen children, Pat, says she, which Heav'n to me has sent ; But childer aint like pigs, you know: they can't pay the rent. She gave me ev'ry shilling there was in the till, And kiss'd me fifty times or more, as if she'd never get her fill, Oh! Heav'n bless you! Pat, says she, and don't forget my boy, That Ould Ireland is your Country, and your name is Pat Malloy ! Oh! England is a purty place: of goold there is no lack I trudged from York to London wid me scythe upon me back, The English girls are beautiful, their loves I don't decline; The eating and the drinking, too, is beautiful and fine But in a corner of me heart, which nobody can see, Two eyes of Irish blue are always peeping out at me! O, Molly darlin', never fear: I'm still your own dear boy Ould Ireland is me Country, and me name is Pat Malloy ! From Ireland to America, across the seas, I roam: And every shilling that I got, ah! sure I sent it home, Me mother couldn't write, but, oh! there came from Father Boyce : Oh! Heav'n bless you! Pat, says she― I hear me mother's voice! But, now, I'm going home again, as poor as I began, To make a happy girl of Moll, and sure I think I can : Me pockets they are empty, but mẹ heart is fill'd wid joy: For, Ould Ireland is me Country, and me name is Pat Malloy. SONG OF ALL SONGS. As you walk through the streets, you will see as you go, In music store windows lots of ballads in a row. I saw some the other day as I went along, So I've put them together to make up my song. There was sweet Annie Lisle and Billy Barlow, Going to Limerick, where kissing's all the go. Give us back our old Commander, with the Sword of Bunker Hill, Kissing goes by favor with the lass of Pattie's Mill. When this cruel war is over, no niggers need apply, For sour krout and sausages is our bat tle cry. We're marching along to answer freeom's call, Or jump Jim Crow at Lanigan's ball. Then rock me to sleep in my gum-tree canoe, The Captain with his whiskers, and his Hoop de dooden do. John Bull, do you remember the grave of Lillie Dale? St. Patrick was a gentleman, a-riding on a rail. There's whiskey in the jar, on the banks of Allenwater; The brave Sixth Corps after Scroggins's daughter. Where's the Spondulix? I'm a bachelor forlorn, In the days when I was hard up, where's all the money gone? How are you, Greenbacks, in the home of the free. With old Robert Ridley in the cottage by the sea. I'm a single young man what are the girls about? How are you, Horace Greely; does your mother know you're out? At the battle of Bull Run, where our soldiers brave did rally, Give me a gallant bark with Sally in our alley; Let me kiss him for his mother; he's a bold privateer; We'll cross the deep blue sea in bully lager beer. I'm going to fight mit Sigel, away down in Maine; I'm going to be married with my Mary Blane. But there's Wendell Phillips, way down in Dixie land, A-courting in the kitchen a female contraband. I'd like to be a soldier, my country's battles fight, |