It was in the midst of this extraordinary din that his voice was heard
commanding silence in its loudest and best-humored key:
"Hould yer tongues," said he; "bad win to yees, don't you hear me
wantin' to sing! Whist wid yees. Hem--och--'Eise up'--Why, thin, Phil
Callaghan, you might thrate me wid more dacency, if you had gumption in
you; I'm sure no one has a betther right to sing first in this company
nor myself; an' what's more, I will sing first. Hould your tongues!
Hem!"
He accordingly commenced a popular song, the air of which, though
simple, was touchingly mournful.
"Och, rise up, Willy Reilly, an' come wid me,
I'm goin' for to go wid you, and lave this counteree;
I'm goin' to lave my father, his castles and freelands--
An' away what Willy Reilly, an' his own Colleen Bawn.
"Och, they wint o'er hills an' mountains, and valleys that was
fair,
An' fled before her father as you may shortly hear;
Her father followed afther wid a well-chosen armed band,
Och, an' taken was poor Reilly, an' his own Colleen Bawn."
The simple pathos of the tune, the affection implied by the words, and
probably the misfortune of Willy Reilly, all overcame him, He finished
the second verse with difficulty, and on attempting to commence a third
he burst into tears.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188