I am no gentleman, not I!
No star-bedizen'd thing!
My fathers filch'd no dignity,
By fawning to a king.
I am no gentleman, not I !
No, no, no!

And to the wage of honesty
My rank I owe.

I am no gentleman, not I!
No bowing, scraping thing!
I bear my head more free and high
Than titled count or king.

I am no gentleman, not I!
No, no, no!

And thank the blessed God on high,
Who made me so!

WEE Willie Winkie rins through the town, Up stairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gown, Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock, "Are the weans in their bed?- for it's now ten o'clock."

Hey, Willie Winkie! are ye comin' ben? The cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleepin' hen,

The doug's spelder'd on the floor, and disna gie a cheep;

But here's a waukrife laddie, that winna fa' asleep.

TELL me, ye winged winds,
That round my pathway roar,
Do ye not know some spot
Where mortals weep no more?
Some lone and pleasant dell,
Some valley in the west,
Where, free from toil and pain,

The weary soul may rest?

The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, And sigh'd for pity as it answer'd, "No."

Tell me, thou mighty deep,

Whose billows round me play,
Knowst thou some favor'd spot,
Some island far away,
Where weary man may find
The bliss for which he sighs,
Where sorrow never lives,

And friendship never dies?
The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow,
Stopp'd for a while, and sigh'd to answer,
"No."

And thou, serenest moon,

That, with such lovely face,
Dost look upon the earth
Asleep in night's embrace;
Tell me, in all thy round

Hast thou not seen some spot
Where miserable man

May find a happier lot?

Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, And a voice, sweet but sad, responded, "No."

Tell me, my secret soul,

Oh! tell me, Hope and Faith, Is there no resting-place

From sorrow, sin, and death?

Is there no happy spot

Where mortals may be blest,
Where grief may find a balm,
And weariness a rest?

Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given,

Wav'd their bright wings, and whisper'd, Yes, in heaven."

66

YOUNG Rory O'More courted Kathleen Bawn,

He was bold as a hawk, — she as soft as the dawn;

He wish'd in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,

And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.

"Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry

(Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye),

"With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm about,

Faith you've teas'd till I've put on my cloak inside out."

"Oh! jewel," says Rory, "that same is the

way

You've thrated my heart for this many a day;

And 't is plaz'd that I am, and why not to

be sure?

SOGGARTH AROON

Am I the slave they say, Soggarth aroon? 1 Since you did show the way, Soggarth aroon,

Their slave no more to be,
While they would work with me
Old Ireland's slavery,
Soggarth aroon.

Came to my cabin-door,
And on my earthen-floor
Knelt by me, sick and poor,
Soggarth aroon?

Who, on the marriage day,
Soggarth aroon,

Made the poor cabin gay,
Soggarth aroon

And did both laugh and sing,
Making our hearts to ring
At the poor christening,
Soggarth aroon?

Who, as friend only met,
Soggarth aroon,
Never did flout me yet,

Soggarth aroon;
And when my hearth was dim,
Gave, while his eye did brim,
What I should give to him,
Soggarth aroon?

Och! you, and only you,
Soggarth aroon!

And for this I was true to you,
Soggarth aroon !

Our love they'll never shake, When for ould Ireland's sake We a true part did take, Soggarth aroon !