An' she stood up straight as the queen o' the world,— she lifted her head "He said he would meet me to-morra!" an' dhropt down dead an the dead. Och, Molly, we thought, machree, ye would start back agin into life, Whin we laid yez aich be aich, at yer wake, like husban' an' wife. Sorra the dhry eye thin but was wet for the frinds that was gone! Sorra the silent throat but we hard it cryin' " Ochone!" An' Shamus O'Shea, that has now ten childer, han'some an' tall, Him an' his childer wor keenin' as if he had lost thim Thin his Riverence buried thim both in wan grave be the elder-tree, The young man, Danny O'Roon, wid his ould woman, Molly Magee. May all the flowers o' Jeroosilim blossom an' spring from the grass, Imbrashin' an' kissin' aich other yer Crass! as ye did-over An' the lark fly out o' the flowers wid his song to the sun an' the moon, An' tell thim in hivin about Molly Magee an' her Danny O'Roon, Till holy St. Pether gets up wid his kays an' opens the gate! An' shure, be the Crass, that's betther nor cuttin' the Sassenach whate, To be there wid the Blessed Mother, an' saints an' marthyrs galore, An' singin' yer "aves" an' "pathers" foriver an' ivermore. LITTLE BILLEE BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY There were three sailors of Bristol City There was gorging Jack, and guzzling Jimmy, Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, "O Billy! we're going to kill and eat you, When Bill received this information, "First let me say my catechism Which my poor mammy taught to me." "Make haste! make haste!" says guzzling Jimmy, While Jack pulled out his snickersnee. Billy went up to the main-top-gallant mast, He scarce had come to the Twelfth Commandment When up he jumps "There's land I see! "Jerusalem and Madagascar And North and South Amerikee, So when they got aboard of the Admiral's, The Captain of a Seventy-three. THE MAHOGANY-TREE BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY Christmas is here; Little care we; Care, like a dun, Lurks at the gate: Let the dog wait; Happy we'll be! Drink, every one; Pile up the coals; Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree! Drain we the cup.- In the Red Sea. Mantle it up; Empty it yet; Let us forget, Round the old tree! Sorrows, begone! Life and its ills, Duns and their bills, Bid we to flee. Come with the dawn, Blue-devil sprite; Leave us to-night, Round the old tree! |