“Majestic O’Donnelly! proud as thou art, Like a cedar on top of Mount Hermon, We lament that death shamelessly made thee depart, With the gripes, like a blacksmith or chairman. Oh! hadst thou been felled by Tom Cribb in the ring, Or by Carter been milled to a jelly, Oh! sure that had been a more dignified thing, Than to “kick” for a pain in thy belly. “A curse on the belly that robbed us of thee, And the bowels unfit for their office; A curse on the potheen you swallowed so free, For a stomach complaint, all the doctors agree, Far worse than a headache or cough is. Death, who like a cruel and insolent bully, drubs All those he thinks fit to attack, Cried, ‘Dan, my tight lad, try a touch of my mulligrubs,’ Which laid him flat on his back. “Great spirits of Broughton, Jem Belcher, and Fig, Of Corcoran, Pearce, and Dutch Sam; Whether ‘up stairs’ or ‘down,’ you kick up a rig, And at intervals pause, your blue ruin to swig, Or with grub your bread-basket to cram; Or whether, for quiet, you’re placed all alone, In some charming retired little heaven of your own, Where the turf is elastic—in short, just the thing That Bill Gibbons would choose when he’s forming a ring; That, whenever you wander, you still may turn to, And thrash, and be thrashed, till you’re black and blue; Where your favourite enjoyments for ever are near, And you eat and you drink, and you fight all the year; Ah! receive, then, to join in your milling delight, The shade of Sir Daniel Donnelly, Knight, With whom a turn-up is no frolic; His is no white or cold liver, For he beat O-liver, Challenged Carter, and—died of the colic!” “Sorrow is Dry. “A PLAINTIVE BALLAD. “When to Peggy Bauldie’s daughter first I told Sir Daniel’s death, Like a glass of soda-water, it took away her breath; It took away your breath, my dear, and it sorely dimm’d your sight, And aye ye let the salt, salt tear down fall for Erin’s knight; For he was a knight of glory bright, the spur ne’er deck’d a bolder, Great George’s blade itself was laid upon Sir Daniel’s shoulder. Sing hey ho, the Sheddon, etc. “I took a turn along the street, to breathe the Trongate air, Carnegie’s lass I chanced to meet, with a bag of lemons fair; Says I, ‘Gude Meg, ohone! ohone! you’ve heard of Dan’s disaster— If I’m alive, I’ll come at five, and feed upon your master;— A glass or two no harm will do to either saint or sinner. And a bowl with friends will make amends for a so-so sort of dinner.’