Sweet Peggy, round her car, sir,
Has strings of ducks and geese;
But the scores of hearts she slaughters
By far out-number these,
While she among her poultry sits,
Just like a turtle-dove,
Well worth the cage, I do engage,
Of the blooming god of love.
While she sits in her low-back'd car,
The lovers come near and far,
And envy the chicken
That Peggy is picking
As she sits in the low-back'd car.
Oh, I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,
Than a coach and four, and gold galore,
And a lady for my bride;
For the lady would sit fornenst me,
On a cushion made with taste,
While Peggy would sit beside me,
With my arm around her waist.
While we drove in the low-back'd car
To be married by Father Maher,
Oh, my heart would beat high
At her glance and her sigh,
Though it beat in a low-back'd car.
[Music by GEOrge Barker.
The sea was bright and the bark rode well,
And the breeze bore the tone of the vesper bell.
"Twas a gallant bark with a crew as brave,
As ever launch'd on the heaving wave.
She shone in the light of declining day,
And each sail was set and each heart was gay.
They near'd the land where in beauty smiles
The sunny shore of the Grecian Isles;
All thought of home, and that welcome dear
That soon should greet each wanderer's ear,
And in fancy join'd the social throng,
And the festive dance and the joyous song.
A white cloud flies through the azure sky,
What means that wild despairing cry?
Farewell the vision'd scenes of home,
That cry is "Help!" where no help can come ;
For the white squall rides on the surging wave,
And the bark is gulph'd in an ocean grave.
ALL'S WELL.
THOMAS DIBDIN.]
Deserted by the waning moon,
When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon,
On tower, or fort, or tented ground
The sentry walks his lonely round;
And should a footstep haply stray
Where caution marks the guarded way,
"Who goes there? stranger, quickly tell."
"A friend"-"The word"
"Good night, all's well."
Or sailing on the midnight deep,
While weary messmates soundly sleep,
The careful watch patrols the deck
To guard the ship from foes or wreck;
And while his thoughts oft homeward veer,
Some well-known voice salutes his ear,
"What cheer, oh, brother, quickly tell."
"Above-below-good night! all's well."
THE ANGELS OF THE HOUSE.
[Music by E. L. HIME.
'Tis said that ever round our path
The unseen angels stray,
That give us blissful dreams by night,
And guard our steps by day.
But there's an angel in the house,
Meek, watchful, and sincere,
That whispers words of hope to us
When none beside are near;
It is the one, the chosen one,
That's link'd to us for life,
The angel of the happy home,
The faithful, trusting wife.
'Tis said that angels walk the earth.
I'm sure it must be so,
When round our path, scarce seen by us,
Such bright things come and go.
Are there not beings by our side
As fair as angels are,
As pure, as stainless, as the forms
That dwell beyond the star?
Yes! there are angels of the earth,
Pure, innocent, and mild,
The angels of our hearts and homes,
Each loved and loving child.
Oh! I'm not myself at all,
Molly dear, Molly dear,
I'm not myself at all!
Nothing caring, nothing knowing,
'Tis afther you I'm going,
Faith your shadow 'tis I'm growing,
Molly dear, Molly dear,
And I'm not myself at all!
Th' other day I went confessin',
And I ask'd the father's blessin',
"But," says I, "don't give me one intirely,
For I fretted so last year;
But the half o' me is here,
So give the other half to Molly Brierly."
Oh! I'm not myself at all!
Oh! I'm not myself at all,
Molly dear, Molly dear,
My appetite's so small.
I once could pick a goose,
But my buttons is no use-
Faith my tightest coat is loose,
Molly dear, Molly dear,
And I'm not myself at all.
If thus it is I waste,
You'd betther, dear, make haste Before your lover's gone away intirely ; If you don't soon change your mind, Not a bit of me you'll find.
And what 'd you think o' that, Molly Brierly.
Oh, I'm not myself at all.
Oh, my shadow on the wall,
Molly dear, Molly dear,
Isn't like myself at all!
For I've got so very thin,
Myself says "tisn't him,
But that purty girl so slim,"
Molly dear, Molly dear,
And I'm not myself at all!
If thus I smaller grow,
All frettin, dear, for you,
'Tis you should make up
So just let Father Taaffe
Make
you my better half,
And you will not the worse of the addition be.
Oh, I'm not myself at all.
I'll be not myself at all,
Molly dear, Molly dear,
Till you my own I call.
Since a change o'er me there came,
Sure you might change your name,
And 'twould just come to the same,
Molly dear, Molly dear,-
Oh, 'twould just come to the same
Hurrah! hurrah! for the countless heaps,
For the nuggets and the dust;
The rich red gold in the mountain sleeps,
But yield to our strength it must.
What though it hath lain in stream and plain,
For ages that none can scan;
The earth but yields up her wealth again,
Subdued by her master-man.
Then merrily ply the pick and spade, &c.
Hurrah! hurrah! for the bright red gold,
Yet not for itself we sing;
For are not its blessings still untold,
And the comforts it may bring?
The rich alone they have gold to spare,
But he is poor indeed
Who'd not with his fellow-creatures share
In the hour of his care and need.
Then merrily ply the pick and spade, &c.
LOOK ALWAYS ON THE SUNNY SIDE.
Look always on the sunny side
"Tis wise and better far;
And safer through life's cares to glide
Beneath hope's beaming star.
The springs of rosy laughter lie
Close by the well of tears,
Yet why should merry fancies die
Drown'd in a flood of tears?
Look always on the sunny side-
"Tis wise and better far;
And safer through life's cares to glide
Beneath hope's beaming star.
Look always on the sunny side-
The guiltless bosom can;
Nor tremble midst life's roughest tide-
It is not worthy man.
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