Ev'ry ear it arrests, ev'ry whisper soon dropt, Even breathing that moment appeared to be stopt. While each bosom seem'd touched by the soft, thrilling strain, And few eyes quite unwashed to the end could remain. The good dame as she hears Gently melts into tears As she thinks of disconsolate Joan. Who, heart-broken and sad, Or from grief nearly mad, Is bewailing her hard fate alone. The words simply are these, Which fair May sang to tease Mr. Murphy, though it she'll not own. "Oh, my beautiful flow'ret has faded, Is drooping its once joyous head; For the bee with its sweetness has laded His wings and away with it fled. And the fierce, cruel wind, it hath broken The stem which the bright blossom fed; While the leaves by their sad looks have spoken Their grief for the kind parent dead. So my heart's fondest hope has been slighted, Ev'ry joy has been stolen from me. I am drooping, am with'ring, am blighted; But the wreck of life shattered you see. Never more shall the sun by its brightness Illumine my dark gloomy fate; Nor can peace to my spirit bring lightness, For he comes to this bosom too late." Now to scatter the gloom Which pervaded the room, Murphy piles all the chairs into heaps. Flings his arm round the dame (Declares he's not to blame), And with her to the room's centre creeps. While Maguire struck up soon Such a capital tune, That like magic each youth forward leaps To the side of some fair, Who, with pleasure, steps where She in dancing can best show her feats. In and out, Round about, It appears quite a riddle. Hands across, Turn of course, And then rush down the middle. Back again, Pleasant pain! Sure he'll wear out his fiddle. "Quicker play!" "Scrape away!" Cries each pair as they pass by; As whirling And twirling They still swifter and fast fly; And in spite, Though fagged quite, Who can keep up the last try. Till whizzy And dizzy They sink into a seat; If they aint Fit to faint In a terrible heat. When to cool, As by rule, To some draught they retreat. Where the fair one imbibes such a delicate chill That her frame is refreshed; but ere morning she will Find the thoroughfare stopped in her organ of smell; With a rising blockade in the thorax as well. While her forehead of snow into pieces seems splitting, As the pain ev'ry moment is worse and worse getting. And her bright eyes are streaming regret for the folly