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every where like our shamrock. The following, beginning Thiobhán á púin "Johanna my heart's treasure," is taken from among them:

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A Phiobhán, a̸ rúin ! is tú do mhárbh mé piámh :—
A Thiobhán, « púin ! is tú do bháin Síom mo chiall :—
A shiobhán, rúin! is dlúith chuádháis eádár mé á’s

dia,

's bh-fea̸rr dhúinne bheith gán súilibh ná tú fheicfin a riámh!

Is breizh é do shnódh, 's tú án t-seóidh do cumadh zo ceárt, 'Y tú án cáilín óg nách roibh óltách, imirtheách, leamh, do ghruadh már An rós, 's do phóg már shilleadh ná m-beach,

'S gur b’é do cheól réidh, thóig mé o thinneás, á shegre !

PAISTHEEN FION.

Paistheen Fion, pronounced Fin, which may be translated either Fair Youth or Maiden; is an ancient and popular Connaught song. The air is sweet, but of a plaintive or melancholy strain; such as can scarcely fail to remind the hearer, that it is "the music of a people who have lost their freedom." By the Paistheen Fion, I am inclined to think, was meant, the son of James II. but the allegorical songs of the Irish will be alluded to in another part of this work.

The ingenious translator requests me to observe, that he fears he has not succeeded in transferring all the tenderness of the original word Suirin. The disinterested affection, the adhesion of kindred, the endearing diminutiveness expressed by

it, are such, as perhaps excel, what even the languages of Italy have been so celebrated for imparting.

The Cup F, or chorus, has been frequently used by our bards. Carolan introduces it in his "George Brabazon," see p. 70. and it may be found in other places. The term Cup f<, "put under," is used metaphorically. It signifies, a call from the singer to the hearers, to join their voices in raising the song, as mariners, or workmen, unite their strength in lifting burthens. In general, the chorus has but little, and often no connection whatever, with the words. I have known the same chorus in Irish to be employed in the service of several songs. A curious specimen of want of such connection, or rather want of meaning in the chorus, occurs in "a righte merrie and conceited" composition, well known in Galway by the name of Speic Seoigheach, or "The humours of Joyce's Country," a mountainous district in the western part of that county:

Júð í an spéic Yeóigheách 'zá tógbháil go h-íntine ch
Idir ná mnáibh ógá K's ná h‐ogánáibh Keíreácha,
Is mo lil lá, Ababó.

Cur fa̸—a̸'s mo rulán, he rulán,

Hu rulín, Ha̸rri pula̸n,
Imbo lán, 's mo pula̸n,
Azur Amhoch hérrin néprin nín.

Tig meks Kir chránnáibh beidh enu 'gus subherKebh Kr láp,

Súd már congnámh beáthá dhuit, « Chátháil ui Shuibh

geankin.

Is mo líl lo, Ababó.

bhí me lá Kérách áir Kénách ná Cára̸ 's me a̸g ól, Tug me geán éigin do Kén inzhín Phásánáích mhóir, Léiz mé codhlá breize orm d'fheucháin An m-blasfámn d'a póg,

'Y Kg ionnsa̸íghe An bhánfhláith, rKobádh mile maide Air mo thóin.

Is mo líl ló, Ababó.

The Joyces of Iar-Conaught are literally a race of giants. We are informed from Joseph Ben Gorion, a Jewish author of the sixth century, that the Irish people "are great like giants, men of tall stature and very strong, most skilful in throwing darts, and the stoutest soldiers in war.” An old writer adds, "of this race there is still a family in Conaught, and one of them could take ten of the valets of the present king of France (Lewis XIV.) on his back, and run a course with a nimble footman. I am apt to believe, that the old Scythian race is as much degenerated in Ireland, as the species of elks and wolf dogs."-Orig. MS. in the library of the Royal Irish Academy.

The town of Carra, mentioned in the above ludicrous stanza, is situate near Castlebar, in the county of Mayo. The mart alluded to, was granted to Michael Cormick, of an ancient family of Erris, on 19th May, 1618. The big Englishman, as tradition tells, was one of the Cuffs, ancestors of the late lord Tyrawly, of that county.

As a contrast to the foregoing, I am induced to conclude with a soft little pastoral fragment, called Copma̸e Og, composed on the banks of the Lee, in the county of Cork. It is worth preserving for the sweetness of some of the verses:

Táid na coilm Kg sugradh 's An sámhradh ág teácht, 'Yan bláith Kg briseádh tré mhullaichibh na ceránn Amach,

Air thóinn t❜n biolár zo triopallách, glúineách, zlás,

'Y ná corcógá Kg silleádh le h-10mád de shúzhádh ná m-bekch.

Is iomdhá tortha̸ A's mea̸s Air An ecoill so shuís,

A's big-bhean mháiseách, cheárt An t-seáng-choirp th

sukire,

Céud bó bháinne, cápall groídhe 'gus uán

Choir lói ná m-breác, mo chreach! mé Kin dhíbirt ukit!

Túid ná h ́ein Kg deanadh gutha̸ Kgus ceóil,

Táid na la̸óízh ag geimneadh go tréun chum socháir ná

m-bó,

Táid na h-éisz áz réubadh corradh air an bh-feóp,
A's me-si fein <'m Konár K's Cormac óg!

TRANSLATION.

The doves they are pairing, and summer is near,
Decked in green clustering cresses the streamlets appear;
The blossoms are bursting the tops of the trees,
And the hives are distilling the honey of bees.

With fruits, and with acorns, yon green wood is crown'd, There damsels, fair damsels, are sauntering around; Lowing herds, stately steeds, by the trout loving Lee, Fleecy sheep, graceful fawns, whilst I'm exiled from thee.

The birds there are warbling, there frolic the lambs,
For the hot streaming milk low the calves round their dams;
The fish burst their banks and leap high on the shore,
Whilst I, and young Cormac, our exile deplore.

LITTLE CELIA CONNELLAN.

In this, as in many of our amatory songs, the warmest wishes are expressed for the enjoyment of private meetings with the beloved object, in some shady grove, delightful valley, or sequestered island, where far removed from friends and relatives, they might freely indulge in the unrestrained delight of virtuous intercourse. This is conceived in the purest spirit of romantic love, and without the least taint of any vicious feeling or desire. The unsuspecting confidence which it necessarily implies, is the truest test of its honorable tendency, and the surest safeguard of maiden innocence. This observation is rendered necessary from the present state of society, so very different from that of our ancestors; conclusions might otherwise be drawn from those passages, foreign from the simple meaning of the originals.

"The plumy interloper, in the third stanza of the original,

"

is a pheasant,' but we trust the necessity of the rhyme will justify our preference.”—T.

both in the first Stanza should have been written bukidheartha.

The metre of this song is suited to a lively musical strain. It is a composition of the county of Sligo, and an old favorite. The following stanzas in the same metre, from the neighbouring county, Mayo, being the original of the well known, " Bunch of Rushes," will, it is hoped, be acceptable to the Irish reader :

66

-

biri Lu A CHP A.

la d'ár éirigh me zo h-uáigneách A'dul suas dam' go Condke an Chláip, bhí mo ghadha̸ijín liom go h-ukibhreách, Az ugillfeárt 's mo ghuna̸ Km' Kimh :-

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