For lovers all look for the brass, O! And they slight the poor beautiful maid. I have lived in the world about seventy years, And I weep every night half-a-pail full of tears; For I fear that, alas! there'll be soon no escapes From the terrible doom, sir, of leading of apes. It makes me look wonderful blue, sir, sir, To marry the beautiful maid. O, gentlemen, surely your hearts are all stone, To turn a deaf ear to my pitiful moan, To look with contempt on my love and my truth, And be blind to the graces of beauty and youth. O, gentlemen, what are you arter? I've a secret to tell that will alter the case, And will surely remove every frown from your face; Then spouses in plenty will come in a swarm; Though our hearts they are cold, my purse it is warm. You'll call me an adorable creature, NED OF THE HILL. DARK is the evening, and silent the hour ; Who is the minstrel by yonder lone tower? His harp all so tenderly touching with skill; O, who should it be, but Ned of the Hill? Who sings, "Lady love, come to me now, Come and live merrily under the bough, And I'll pillow thy head Where the fairies tread, If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill!" Ned of the Hill has no castle nor hall, Nor spearmen nor bowmen to come at his call; But one little archer, of exquisite skill, Has shot a bright shaft for Ned of the Hill, Who sings, "Lady love, come to me now, Come and live merrily under the bough, And I'll pillow thy head Where the fairies tread, If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill!" 'Tis hard to escape from that fair lady's bower, For high is the window, and guarded the tower; "But there's always a way where there is a will," So Ellen is off with Ned of the Hill! Who sings, "Lady love, thou art mine now! We will live merrily under the bough, Where the fairies tread, For Ellen is wed to Ned of the Hill !" THE IRISH MAIDEN'S SONG. THROUGH lofty Scotia's mountains, Of thee I think the while, While many who have left thee, I call thee still "Mavourneen," Fair as the glittering waters, Thy emerald banks that lave, For their dear sakes I love thee, My own green Isle. PARODY ON THE COTTAGE BY THE "Childhood's days have passed before me, Thou hast learned to love another Let me kiss him for his mother, "We are coming, Sister Mary, Maiden, wilt thou dwell with mo, い |