That the joyful sound
Of that mingling laughter
Echoed in my ears

Many a long day after.

Such a silver peal!

In the meadows listening, You who've heard the bells

Ringing to a christening; You who ever heard

Caradori pretty, Smiling like an angel,

Singing "Giovinetti ”; Fancy Peggy's laugh,

Sweet, and clear, and cheerful,

At my pantaloons

With half a pint of beer full!

When the laugh was done,

Peg, the pretty hussy, Moved about the room Wonderfully busy;

Now she looks to see

If the kettle keep hot;

Now she rubs the spoons,
Now she cleans the teapot;
Now she sets the cups

Trimly and secure :

Now she scours a pot,

And so it was I drew her.

Thus it was I drew her

Scouring of a kettle,

(Faith! her blushing cheeks Redden'd on the metal!)

This I do declare

Happy is the laddy

Who the heart can share

Of Peg of Limavaddy;

Married if she were,

Blest would be the daddy

Of the children fair

Of Peg of Limavaddy. Beauty is not rare

In the land of Paddy, Fair beyond compare

Is Peg of Limavaddy.

Citizen or Squire,

Tory, Whig or Radi-cal would all desire

Peg of Limavaddy.

Had I Homer's fire

Or that of Sergeant Taddy,
Meetly I'd admire

Peg of Limavaddy.

And till I expire

Or till I grow mad, I

Will sing unto my lyre

Peg of Limavaddy.

W. M. Thackeray

Norah Creina

L

ESBIA hath a beaming eye,

But no one knows for whom it beameth;

Right and left its arrows fly,

But what they aim at, no one dreameth.

Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon

My Norah's lid, that seldom rises;

Few its looks, but every one,

Like unexpected light, surprises.
O, my Norah Creina, dear,

My gentle, bashful Norah Creina!
Beauty lies

Lesbia wears a robe of gold;

But all so close the nymph hath laced it,
Not a charm of beauty's mould

Presumes to stay where Nature placed it.

O, my Norah's gown for me,

That floats as wild as mountain breezes,

Leaving every beauty free

To sink or swell as Heaven pleases.
Yes, my Norah Creina dear!
My simple, graceful Norah Creina!
Nature's dress

Is loveliness

The dress you wear, my Norah Creina!

Lesbia hath a wit refin'd;

But when its points are gleaming round us,
Who can tell if they're design'd

To dazzle merely, or to wound us ?
Pillow'd on my Norah's heart,

YE

But still infuses in the poet's mind,

Your kind sweet favours to his endeavours,

That his ardent labours should appear sublime;

Preserve my study from getting muddy,

My idea's ready, so inspire my brain;

My quill refine, as I write each line,

On a nymph divine called the Star of Slane.

In beauteous Spring, when the warblers sing,
And their carols ring through each fragrant grove ;
Bright Sol did shine, which made me incline
By the River Boyne for to go to rove.
I was ruminating and meditating

And contemplating as I paced the plain,
When a charming fair, beyond compare,

Did my heart ensnare near the town of Slane.

Had Paris seen this young maid serene,

The Grecian Queen he would soon disdain, And straight embrace this virgin chaste,

And peace would grace the whole Trojan plain. If ancient Cæsar could on her gaze, Sir,

He'd stand amazed for to view this dame, Sweet Cleopatra he would freely part her,

And his crown he'd barter for the Star of Slane.

There's Alexander, that famed commander,

Whose triumphant standard it did conquer all, Who proved a victor over crowns and sceptres, And great warlike structures did before him fall; Should he behold her, I will uphold, Sir,

From pole to pole he would then proclaim,
For the human race in all that wide space,
To respect the chaste blooming Star of Slane.

To praise her beauty then is my duty,
But alas! I'm footy in this noble part,
And to my sorrow, sly Cupid's arrow,
Full deep did burrow in my tender heart;
In pain and trouble yet I will struggle,

Though sadly hobbled by my stupid brain,
Yet backed by Nature I can tell each feature
Of this lovely creature called the Star of Slane.