dá bh-feicfeí-s« s«llídh, A's í dul chum an Kénkich,

Bróga dKithte uirthi, K's Aprún zléigeal,

A's, chailíneadh

Yeázhán Glás.

an t-sleibh', sin KgKibh

'Y í is sámháil dí bhénus, géa̸g ná rojg ngla̸s

'Y A gruddh Kir lásádh, 'sa leácá már cháérá;

O chíoch chruinne, nár fionnádh 's nár féuchadh,
A Dhik! gan me-si Kgus i-se n-éinfheácht,

A d-tom nglás coille, go n-déanfama̸ois réidhteách,

A chárá mo chroídhe! nách Ann sin do bhéidheadh An rule?

2'r,chailíneadh an t-sléibh', sin gaibh Yeázhán Glas.

Then Shane is the lad, that his bruises has had,

For the girls and drinking have made him half mad, Then maids of the mountain there's for you Shane

Glas.

Have you chanc'd on your way handsome Sally to meet, With her gown snowy white, and her nice little feet,

When she's bound to the fair, or returning from

Mass;

With her smile so bewitching, her glances so bright,

And her bosom so temptingly fair to the sight:
Oh! might I but find, the sweet girl to my mind,
In yonder green holly-wood gently reclined,

What joy would it bring to the heart of Shane Glas.

VOL. I.

seamar pluiqcEATT.

Cearbhallán ró chán.

Yéamás óg Pluíncéátt, bronntóir An fhíona̸,

Fukir oidea̸s Kir cheóltáibh, spórt Agus KóíbhneKs,

Air Kittin, Kir Ghréigis, 's Kir GhKoídheilz bhreńgh,

Líomhtha,

Grádh ná m-bán n-óg é, An t-óig-fhea̸r gla̸n, sa̸óítheK

mháil.

Is fea̸rr 'ná sin féin, A mhéinn K's « mhKithios,

Gukire níor thug bukdh Kir, <' n-uKisleKcht a

bheartaibh,

Go m-budh fada sáéghlách, beódh é, zán bhrón Kir bith

ná eásba̸idh,

'I A Krd-fhla̸ith mhór bhéurfádh ól fada do ghasráidh.

JAMES

PLUNKETT.'

BY THOMAS FURLONG.

Oh! where shall thy like, my lov'd Plunkett, be found, Thou soul of each circle when mirth reigns around,—

Let the learned thy skill in each language declare,

While fond sighs speak the feelings and thoughts of the

fair.

Oh! kind is thine heart, as each tongue can avow,

In sports and in pastimes unrivall'd art thou;

Long long be thy days, and unclouded by care,

And plenty be thine-that of plenty can share.

Say who has not heard of mine own favor'd youth,
The lov'd one whose looks beam with genius and truth;

Oh! many is the maiden, and beauteous to see,

Who pines all in silence, my Plunkett, for thee.

An 3-cuklaidh sibh tréighthe An tréun-mhgretich

shúzkich,

Már a tá an Pluíncéáttách zlégheal, breígh, éudtrom,

lúthmhár ;—

'Y é dúbhairt gách máízhdeán bhéusách, m-bíodh ná

céuda dhi Az úmhlúzhádh,

Mo léun! zán mé K's tú, már Kén Kir ár n-glúinibh.

Hí'l sin máízhdeán bhéusách, ó Eirne zo ZKillibh Kmách, dá g-cualaidh riámh A thréidhe, nk' mhéinn leó

bheith 'n-Kice seal,

A 3-coilltibh bhuin-Kn-fhiodáin tá án furránách,

brea̸gh, soinea̸ntá,

Mhealladh na cailínídhe Air chúl ná g-cráóíbheacha.