FROM MY DEAR NATIVE VILLAGE

AIR.-Lough Sheeling

FROM my dear native village a long

time away,

And I wish'd to review the lov'd haunts of my play,

Where youth pass'd so fleeting, yet blissful the while,

Ere the heart felt a pang from dark falsehood or guile.

As my steps were bent homeward, how memory flew

O'er the scenes and the names that my infancy knew ;

In fancy the brook ran its winding way still,

And the sunbeams of noon falling bright on the hill.

At length the green hill blest my longwishing eye,

But its brook of soft murmurs was silent and dry,

The wild-briar tangled where rose-trees had been,

The village in ruins, and lonesome the

green.

My heart sunk within me, and fast came my tears,

And I thought of the days of my joywinged years;

No friends came to greet me, no children at play,

For the proud and the rich drove the humble away.

HAD I A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD
FRAMED.

HAD I a heart for falsehood framed,
I ne'er could injure you;

For tho' your tongue no promise claim'd,
Your charms would make me true,
To you no soul shall bear deceit,
No stranger offer wrong,

But friends in all the aged you'll meet,
And lovers in the young.

But when they learn that you have blest
Another with your heart,
They'll bid aspiring passion rest,
And act a brother's part;
Then, lady, dread not here deceit,

Nor fear to suffer wrong,

For friends in all the aged you'll meet,

And lovers in the young

I'VE BEEN SHOPPING

AIR.-I've been Roaming.

I've been shopping, I've been shopping,

-street,

And I'm hopping, and I'm hopping,
With his shoes upon my feet.

I've been roaming, I've been roaming,
For rose-oil and lily rare,
And I'm coming, and I'm coming,
With a bottle for my hair.

I've been roaming, I've been roaming,
To the pastry cook's, old Phips,
And I'm coming, and I'm coming,
With some kisses for my lips.

I've been roaming, I've been roaming, -street, and down Park

Up

lane.

And I'm coming, and I'm coming,
To my own house back again.

I've been roaming, I've been roaming,
I do declare,

To Mr. And I'm coming, and I'm coming, With some curly locks bought there

I've been roaming, I've been roaming,

— street, and every where,

Up
And I'm coming, and I'm coming,

To my home, to fix my hair.

ADIEU! ADIEU! MY NATIVE SHORE

ADIEU! adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue;

The night-winds sigh, the breakers

roar,

And shrieks the wild sea-mew
Yon sun that sets upon the sea,
We follow in his flight;
Farewell, awhile, to him and thee
My native land-good night!

With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine;

Nor care what land thou bear'st me to

So not again to mine.

Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue

waves,

And, when ye fail my sight,

Welcome, ye deserts and ye caves→
My native land-good night'

JUGGY DELANY.

AIR.-Terry O'Rourke.

WHEN I was a boy, in the town of Kilkenny,

I fell deep in love with sweet Juggy

Delany;

She'd a nate taper waste, like a cow in the middle,

And so sweetly she'd dance to a drum or a fiddle.

Singing, whack for ould Ireland! the country for whiskey,

The girls are so fair, and the boys all so frisky:

For drinking, for fighting, or handling a flail,

O! the boys of ould Ireland will never turn tail.

Now, the beauties of Juggy, to sing's my intention:

If you're dying in love, now, her charms I wont mention:

She'd a pair of black eyes, by my soul I'm no joker,

Like two holes that were burnt in a blanket by a poker.

Singing, whack for ould Ireland, &c