A Book of Irish Verse Part 28

THE SHAN VAN VOCHT

O! the French are on the sea, Says the _shan van vocht_; The French are on the sea, Says the _shan van vocht_; O! the French are in the bay, They'll be here without delay, And the Orange will decay, Says the _shan van vocht_.

_Chorus._

O! the French are in the bay, They'll be here by break of day, And the Orange will decay, Says the _shan van vocht_.

And their camp it shall be where?

Says the _shan van vocht_; Their camp it shall be where?

Says the _shan van vocht_; On the Currach of Kildare, The boys they will be there, With their pikes in good repair, Says the _shan van vocht_.

To the Currach of Kildare The boys they will repair, And Lord Edward will be there, Says the _shan van vocht_.

Then what will the yeomen do?

Says the _shan van vocht_; What will the yeomen do?

Says the _shan van vocht_; What _should_ the yeomen do But throw off the red and blue, And swear that they'll be true To the _shan van vocht_?

What _should_ the yeomen do But throw off the red and blue, And swear that they'll be true To the _shan van vocht_?

And what colour will they wear?

Says the _shan van vocht_; What colour will they wear?

Says the _shan van vocht_; What colour should be seen Where our fathers' homes have been, But our own immortal Green?

Says the _shan van vocht_.

What colour should be seen Where our fathers' homes have been, But our own immortal Green?

Says the _shan van vocht_.

And will Ireland then be free?

Says the _shan van vocht_; Will Ireland then be free?

Says the _shan van vocht_; Yes! Ireland SHALL be free, From the centre to the sea; Then hurra! for Liberty!

Says the _shan van vocht_.

Yes! Ireland SHALL be free, From the centre to the sea; Then hurra! for Liberty!

Says the _shan van vocht_.

THE WEARING OF THE GREEN

O Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?

The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground; St. Patrick's day no more we'll keep, his colours can't be seen, For there's a b.l.o.o.d.y law agin the wearing of the green.

I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand, And he said, 'How's poor old Ireland, and how does she stand?'

She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen, They are hanging men and women for the wearing of the green.

Then if the colour we must wear be England's cruel red, Let it remind us of the blood that Ireland has shed.

You may take the shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod, But 'twill take root and flourish there, though under foot 'tis trod.

When law can stop the blades of gra.s.s from growing as they grow, And when the leaves in summer-time their verdure dare not show, Then I will change the colour that I wear in my caubeen, But 'till that day, please G.o.d, I'll stick to wearing of the green.

THE RAKES OF MALLOW

Beauing, belleing, dancing, drinking, Breaking windows, d.a.m.ning, sinking, Ever raking, never thinking, Live the rakes of Mallow.

Spending faster than it comes, Beating waiters, bailiffs, duns, Bacchus's true-begotten sons, Live the rakes of Mallow.

One time nought but claret drinking, Then like politicians thinking To raise the sinking funds when sinking, Live the rakes of Mallow.

When at home with dadda dying, Still for Mallow water crying; But where there's good claret plying, Live the rakes of Mallow.

Living short, but merry lives; Going where the devil drives; Having sweethearts, but no wives, Live the rakes of Mallow.

Racking tenants, stewards teasing, Swiftly spending, slowly raising, Wishing to spend all their days in Raking as at Mallow.

Then to end this raking life They get sober, take a wife, Ever after live in strife, And wish again for Mallow.

JOHNNY, I HARDLY KNEW YE

_Street Ballad_

While going the road to sweet Athy, Hurroo! hurroo!

While going the road to sweet Athy, Hurroo! hurroo!

While going the road to sweet Athy, A stick in my hand and a drop in my eye, A doleful damsel I heard cry:-- 'Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

With drums and guns and guns and drums The enemy nearly slew ye, My darling dear, you look so queer, Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

'Where are your eyes that looked so mild?

Hurroo! hurroo!

Where are your eyes that looked so mild?

Hurroo! hurroo!

Where are your eyes that looked so mild, When my poor heart you first beguiled?

Why did you run from me and the child?

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

With drums, etc.

'Where are the legs with which you run?

Hurroo! hurroo!

Where are the legs with which you run?

Hurroo! hurroo!

Where are the legs with which you run, When you went to carry a gun?-- Indeed, your dancing days are done!