POETRY.
JOHNEEN.
SURE he's five months old, an' he's two foot long, Baby Johneen, Watch yerself now, for he's tarrible sthrong, Baby Johneen !
An' his fists 'ill be up if ye make anny slips,— With finger-ends rosy the same as daisy-tips,- But he'll have ye attend to the words of his lips, will Johneen.
There' nobody can rightly tell the colour of his eyes, this Johneen, For they're partly o' the earth, an' still they're partly o' the skies, like Johneen.
So far as lie's thravelled he's been laughin' all the way, For the little soul is quare an' wise, the little heart is gay.; An' he likes the merry daffodils, he thinks they'd do to play with Johneen.
He'll sail a boat yet, if he only has his luck, young Johneen, For he takes to the wather like anny little duck, boy Johneen ; Sure them are the hands now to pull on a rope, An' nate feet for walkin the deck on a slope, But the ship she must wait a wee while yet, I hope, for Johneen..
For we couldn't do wantin' him, not just yet, och Johneen, 'Tis you that are the daisy, an' you that are the pet, wee Johneen I Here's to your health, an' we'll dhrink it to-night, Slainte gal, avic ma chree I live an' do right, Slainte gal, avcnerneen 1-may yer days be bright, Johneen I Moms O'NEILL.
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