Convaniently to hould These patriots so bould, We tuck the opportunity of Tim Doolan's store; And with ornamints and banners (As becomes gintale good manners) We made the loveliest tay-room upon Shannon shore. 'Twould binifit your sowls, To see the butthered rowls, The sugar-tongs and sangwidges and craim galyore, And the muffins and the crumpets, And the band of hearts and thrumpets, To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore. Sure the Imperor of Bohay Would be proud to dthrink the tay That Misthress Biddy Rooney for O'Brine did pour; And, since the days of Strongbow, There never was such Congo-- Mitchil dthrank six quarts of it--by Shannon shore. But Clarndon and Corry Connellan beheld this sworry With rage and imulation in their black hearts' core; And they hired a gang of ruffins To interrupt the muffins, And the fragrance of the Congo on the Shannon shore. When full of tay and cake, O'Brine began to spake; But juice a one could hear him, for a sudden roar Of a ragamuffin rout Began to yell and shout, And frighten the propriety of Shannon shore. As Smith O'Brine harangued, They batthered and they banged: Tim Doolan's doors and windies down they tore; They smashed the lovely windies (Hung with muslin from the Indies), Purshuing of their shindies upon Shannon shore. With throwing of brickbats, Drowned puppies and dead rats, These ruffin democrats themselves did lower; Tin kettles, rotten eggs, Cabbage-stalks, and wooden legs, They flung among the patriots of Shannon shore. O the girls began to scrame And upset the milk and crame; And the honorable gintlemin, they cursed and swore: And Mitchil of Belfast, 'Twas he that looked aghast, When they roasted him in effigy by Shannon shore. O the lovely tay was spilt On that day of Ireland's guilt; Says Jack Mitchil, "I am kilt! Boys, where's the back door? 'Tis a national disgrace: Let me go and veil me face;" And he boulted with quick pace from the Shannon shore. "Cut down the bloody horde!" Says Meagher of the sword, "This conduct would disgrace any blackamore;" But the best use Tommy made Of his famous battle blade Was to cut his own stick from the Shannon shore. Immortal Smith O'Brine Was raging like a line; 'Twould have done your sowl good to have heard him roar; In his glory he arose, And he rushed upon his foes, But they hit him on the nose by the Shannon shore. Then the Futt and the Dthragoons In squadthrons and platoons, With their music playing chunes, down upon us bore; And they bate the rattatoo, But the Peelers came in view, And ended the shaloo on the Shannon shore. LARRY O'TOOLE.