Two songs not on Mudcat, both songs can be heard on You Tube, on lorgain2,

                      Dobbins flowery vale
                   By James Garland [Lurgan 1830s]

One morning fair as Phoebus bright his radiant charms display'd
When Flora in her verdant garb the fragrant plains array'd,
As I did rove throughout each grove, no care did me assail,
When a pair I spied by a riverside in Dobbin's Flowery Vale.

As I sat down them to behold beneath a spreading tree
The limpid streams that gently roll'd convey'd these words to me:
"Farewell, sweet maid" the youth he said, "For now I must set sail,
I'll bid adieu to sweet Armagh and Dobbin's Flowery Vale."

"Forbear these thoughts and cruel words that wound a bleeding heart,
For is it true that we're met here, alas, so soon to part?
Must I alone here sigh and moan, to none my grief reveal,
But here lament my cause to vent in Dobbin's Flowery Vale?"

"Unwilling I am to part with you, no longer I can stay,
For Love and Freedom cry "Pursue", those words I must obey
In foreign lands where Freedom smiles, or by the earth conceal'd
I will come home no more to roam from Dobbin's Flowery Vale."

Its mutual love together drew both in a kind embrace,
While tears like rosy drops of dew did trickle down her face.
She strove in vain him to detain, but while she did bewail
He bid adieu and I withdrew from Dobbin's Flowery Vale.

         My Beauty of Limerick

I sing of a loved one who's dear unto me,
Although we are parted by the deep rolling sea,
My thoughts gladly wander to Erin's green shore,
Where dwells my sweet treasure mavourneen asthore.

I sigh when I think of our farewell good-bye,
When she tried for to keep the sad tear from her eye;
Saying "Patrick, God bless you and bring you safe home,
To the heart that is melting for you alone,"

How well I remember the promise I gave;
To go be to old Ireland when money I'd save.
For there's no girl fairer nor lovelier than she,
My beauty of Limerick, acushla Machree.

I place 'neath my pillow at night, ere I sleep,
The beautiful token she gave me to keep---
The wee bit of ribbon she took from her hair---
No king has a jewel more precious or rare.

In the morn when I waken I press to my heart,
My colleen's last gift---from it ne'er will I part;
For it comes from the dearest and the sweetest to me,
My beauty of Limerick, acushla Machree.