LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. 99

The corn was springin' fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud and high;
And the red was on your lip, Mary,
And the love-light in your eye.

The place is little changed, Mary,
The day is bright as then,
The lark's loud song is in my ear,
And the corn is green again :
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
And your breath warm on my cheek;
And I still keep listenin' for the words
You never more will speak.

'Tis but a step down yonder lane,

And the little church stands near,-
The church where we were wed, Mary;
I see the spire from here.

But the graveyard lies between, Mary,
And my step might break your rest,-
For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep,
With your baby on your breast.

I'm very lonely, now, Mary,

For the poor make no new friends;
But, oh! they love the better still
The few our Father sends !

And you were all I had, Mary,
My blessin' and my pride;

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There's nothing left to care for now,
Since my poor Mary died.

Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary,
That still kept hoping on,

When the trust in God had left my soul,
And my arm's young strength was gone;
There was comfort ever on your lip,
And the kind look on your brow,-
I bless you, Mary for that same,
Though you cannot hear me now.

I thank you for the patient smile
When your heart was fit to break,-
When the hunger pain was gnawin' there,
And you hid it for my sake;

I bless you for the pleasant word,

When your heart was sad and sore,Oh, I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, Where grief can't reach you more!

I'm bidding you a long farewell,
My Mary,-kind and true!
But I'll not forget you darling,

In the land I'm going to;

They say there's bread and work for all, And the sun shines always there,—

But I'll not forget old Ireland,

Were it fifty times as fair!

MY LOVER SANG.

101

And often in those grand old woods
I'll sit and shut my eyes,

And my heart will travel back again

To the place where Mary lies; And I'll think I see the little stile

Where we sat side by side,

And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn,

When first you were my bride.

LADY DUFFERIN.

MY LOVER SANG.

He sang, my lover sang

With mellow, melting note

From out his grand, full throat,

Through all my thrilling soul it rang,
The song my lover sang.

He sang, my lover sang

Amid a list'ning throng

Who deemed for them the song;

But ah! I knew for me it rang,

The song my lover sang.

He sang, my lover sang!

"I love! I love!" they heard,

But I, a further word;

"I love you! I love you!" so it rang,
The song my lover sang.

He sang, my lover sang!
Then first I fully knew

My heart was singing too.

"I love you!" so my echo rang

As sweet my lover sang.

KITTY NEIL.

"Ah! sweet Kitty Neil, rise up from that wheel, Your neat little foot will be weary with spin

ning;

Come trip down with me to the sycamore-tree; Half the parish is there, and the dance is beginning.

The sun has gone down, but the full harvest-moon Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whitened

valley;

While all the air rings with the soft loving things

Each little bird sings in the green-shaded alley."

With a blush and a smile Kitty rose up the while, Her eye in the glass, as she bound her hair, glancing;

"Tis hard to refuse when a young lover sues,

So she couldn't but choose to go off to the dancing.

And now on the green the glad groups are seen, Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his choosing;

KITTY NEIL.

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And Pat without fail leads out sweet Kitty Neil. Somehow, when he asked, she ne'er thought of refusing.

And Felix Magee put his pipes to his knee, And with flourish so free sets each couple in motion:

With a cheer and a bound the lads patter the ground,

The maids move around just like swans on the

ocean,

Cheeks bright as the rose, feet light as the doe's, Now coyly retiring, now boldly advancing; Search the world all around from the sky to the ground,

No such sight can be found as an Irish lass dancing.

Sweet Kate, who could view your bright eyes of deep blue,

Beaming humidly through their dark lashes so mildly,

Your fair turned arm, heaving breast, rounded form,

Nor feel his heart warm, and his pulses throb wildly?

Young Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, depart,

Subdued by the smart of such painful yet sweet love: