In my swift course, but ever onward press, TELL HIM I LOVE HIM YET. Tell him I love him yet, as in that joyous time; Tell him I ne'er forget, though memory now be crime; Tell him, when sad moonlight is over earth and sea, I dream of him by night, he must not dream of me! Tell him to go where Fame looks proudly on the brave; Tell him to win a name by deeds on land and wave; Green, green upon his brow the laurel-wreath shall be; Although the laurel now may not be shared with me. Tell him to smile again in pleasure's dazzling throng, To wear another's chain, to praise another's song; Before the loveliest there, I'd have him bend the knee, And breathe to her the prayer he used to breathe to me. And tell him, day by day life looks to me more dim; I falter when I pray, although I pray for him. And bid him, when I die, come to our favorite tree; I shall not hear him sigh,-then let him sigh for me! WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED. SONG. A place in thy memory, dearest, Is all that I claim, So pause and look back when thou hearest The sound of my name. Another may woo thee nearer, Another may win and wear, I care not though he be dearer, Could I be thy true lover, dearest, I would be the fondest and nearest But a cloud o'er my pathway is glooming Which never must break upon thine, And Heaven which made thee all blooming Ne'er made thee to wither on mine. Remember me not as a lover Whose fond hopes are crossed, Whose bosom can never recover The light it has lost; As the young bride remembers the mother She loves, yet never may see, As a sister remembers a brother, Oh, dearest, remember me. GERALD GRIFFIN. I WANDERED BY THE BROOK-SIDE. I wandered by the brook-side, I wandered by the rill, I could not hear the brook flow, But the beating of my own heart, I sat beneath the elm-tree, I watched the long, long shade, MY WEE, WEE WIFE. For I listened for a foot fall, I listened for a word; But the beating of my own heart, He came not-no, he came not,- Fast, silent tears were flowing, It drew me nearer, nearer, For the beating of our own hearts, LORD HOUGHTON. MY WEE, WEE WIFE. My wee wife dwells in yonder cot, Oh! happy is the husband's lot 97 My wee, wee wife, my wee, wee wife, How bright is day, how sweet is life, The king o'er me may wear a crown, But lacks he love to share his throne, My wee, wee wife, my wee, wee wife, Let kings ha'e thrones 'mang warld's strife, I've felt oppression's galling chain, I've shed the tear of care, But feeling ay lost a' its pain, When my wee wife was near. My wee, wee wife, my wee, wee wife, My bonnie bairnies three, The chains we wear are sweet to bear,— How sad could we go free! ALEXANDER HUME. LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary, On a bright May mornin', long ago, |