PADDY O'RAFTHER.- Continued.

So Paddy went off to the brisk Widow Hoy,

And the pullet, between them, was eaten with joy,
And, says she, "'pon my word you're the cleverest boy,

Paddy O'Rafther!"

Then Paddy went back to the priest the next day,
And told him the fowl he had given away

To a poor lonely widow, in want and dismay,

The loss of her spouse weeping asther.

Well, now," says the priest, "I'll absolve you, my lad, For repentantly making the best of the bad,

In feeding the hungry and cheering the sad,

Paddy O Rafther!"

I SAW FROM THE BEACH.

BY THOMAS MOORE.

I SAW from the beach, when the morning was shining,
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on;

I came, when that sun o'er the beach was declining,-
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone!

Ah! such is the fate of our life's early promise,

So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known: Each wave, that we danc'd on at morning, ebbs from us, And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone!

Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorning

The close of our day, the calm eve of our night:Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of morning, Her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best light.

Oh! who would not welcome that moment's returning,
When passion first waked a new life through his frame,
And his soul-like the wood that grows precious in burning—
Gave out all its sweets to Love's exquisite flame?

THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING.

BY THOMAS MOORE.

THE time I've lost in wooing,
In watching and pursuing
The light that lies

In woman's eyes,
Has been my heart's undoing.
Though Wisdom oft has sought me,
I scorn'd the lore she brought me ;
My only books

Were woman's looks,

And folly's all they've taught me.

Her smile, when Beauty granted,
I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him, the sprite
Whom maids by night

Oft meet in glen that's haunted.
Like him, too, Beauty won me,
But while her eyes were on me—
If once their ray

Was turn'd away,

Oh! winds could not outrun me.

And are those follies going?
And is my proud heart growing
Too cold or wise

For brilliant eyes
Again to set it glowing?
No-vain, alas! the endeavor
From bonds so sweet to sever;
Poor Wisdom's chance
Against a glance

Is now as weak as ever!

WE MAY ROAM THROUGH THIS WORLD.

BY THOMAS MOORE.

WE may roam through this world like a child at a feast
Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest;
And when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east,
We e may order our wings, and be off to the west;
But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile,
Are the dearest gifts that Heav'n supplies,
We never need leave our own green isle

For sensitive hearts and for sunbright eyes.
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd,
Through this world whether eastward or westward you

roam,

When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,
Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home

In England, the garden of beauty is kept

By a dragon of prudery placed within call;
But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,

That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after all.
Oh! they want the wild sweet briery fence,
Which round the flowers of Erin dwells,

Which warms the touch, while winning the sense,
Nor charms us least when it most repels.

Then remember, &c.

In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail,
On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try,
Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail,

But just pilots her off, and then bids her good bye!
While the daughters of Erin keep the boy

Ever smiling beside his faithful oar,

Through billows of woe and beams of joy

The same as he look'd when he left the shore.

Then remember, &c.

DRIMIN DONN DILIS.

BY JOHN WALSH.

OH! Drimin donn dilis! the landlord has come,
Like a foul blast of death has he swept o'er our home..
He has withered our rooftree-beneath the cold sky,
Poor, houseless and homeless, to-night must we lie.

My heart it is cold as the white winter's snow;
My brain is on fire, and my blood's in a glow.
Oh! Drimin donn dilis, 'tis hard to forgive

When a robber denies us the right we should live.

With my health and my strength, with hard labor and toil,
I dried the wet marsh and I tilled the harsh soil-
I toiled the long day through, from morn till even,
And I thought in my heart I'd a foretaste of heaven.

The summer shone round us, above and below,
The beautiful summer that makes the flowers blow.
Oh! 'tis hard to forget it, and think I must bear
That strangers shall reap the reward of my care.

Your limbs they were plump then, your coat it was silk,
And never was wanted the mether of milk,

For freely it came in the calm summer's noon,
While you munched to the time of the old milking croon.

How often you left the green side of the hill,
To stretch in the shade and to drink of the rill;
And often I freed you before the gray dawn,

From your snug little pen at the edge of the bawn.

But they racked and they ground me with tax and with ret,
Till my heart it was sore and my life-blood was spent ;
To-day they have finished; and on the wide world,
With the mocking of friends from my home was I hurled.

I knelt down three times for to utter a prayer,
But my heart it was seared, and the words were not there;
Oh! wild were the thoughts through my dizzy head came,
Like the rushing of wind through a forest of flame.

I bid you, old comrade, a long, last farewell,

For the gaunt hand of famine has clutched us too well
It severed the master and you, my good cow,

With a blight on his life, and a brand on his brow.

BY MEMORY INSPIRED.

STREET BALLAD.

AIR.-"Cruiskeen Lawn."

By Memory inspired

And love of country fired,

The deeds of MEN I love to dwell upon;
And the patriotic glow

Of my spirit must bestow

A tribute to O'Connell that is gone, boys, gone!
Here's a memory to the friends that are gone!

In October 'Ninety-seven

May his soul find rest in heaven

William Orr to execution was led on:
The jury, drunk, agreed

That IRISH was his creed :

For perjury and threats drove them on, boys, on :
Here's the memory of John Mitchel, that is gone!

In 'Ninety-eight-the month July-
The informer's pay was high;

When Reynolds gave the gallows brave MacCann ;
But MacCann was Reynolds' first-

One could not allay his thirst

So he brought up Bond and Byrne that are gone, boys, gone; Here's the memory of the friends that are gone!

We saw a nation's tears

Shed for John and Henry Shears :

Betrayed by Judas, Captain Armstrong;

We may forgive, but yet

We never can forget

The poisoning of Maguire that is gone, boys, gone :
Our high Star and true Apostle that is gone!

How did Lord Edward die?
Like a man, without a sigh;

But he left his handiwork on Major Swan!
But Sirr, with steel-clad breast,

And coward heart at best,

Left us cause to mourn Lord Edward that is gone, boys, gone; Here's the memory of our friends that are gone!