"So thou wert spared-I'd bless the morrow In want and sorrow,

That left me you;

And I'd welcome thee from the wasting billow,
This heart thy pillow -

That's what I'd do!"

WIDOW MACHREE

TIDOW MACHREE, it's no wonder you frown,
Och hone! Widow Machree,

WID

Faith it ruins your looks, that same dirty black

gown,

Och hone! Widow Machree.

How altered your air

With that close cap you wear,

'Tis destroying your hair

That should be flowing free;

Be no longer a churl

Of its black silken curl,

Och hone! Widow Machree.

Widow Machree, now the summer is come,

Och hone! Widow Machree,

When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum?
Och hone! Widow Machree.

See, the birds go in pairs,
And the rabbits and hares-
Why, even the bears

Now in couples agree

And the mute little fish,

Though they can't spake, they wish

Och hone! Widow Machree.

Widow Machree, and when winter comes in,
Och hone! Widow Machree,

To be poking the fire all alone is a sin,
Och hone! Widow Machree.

Sure the shovel and tongs
To each other belongs,
While the kettle sings songs
Full of family glee !

Yet alone with your cup,
Like a hermit you sup,

Och hone! Widow Machree.

And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld, Och hone! Widow Machree,

But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld ?
Och hone! Widow Machree.

With such sins on your head
Sure your peace would be fled,
Could you sleep in your bed
Without thinking to see

Some ghost or some sprite

That would wake you at night,
Crying, "Och hone! Widow Machree!"

Then take my advice, darling Widow Machree,
Och hone! Widow Machree.

And, with my advice, faith, I wish you'd take me.
Och hone! Widow Machree!

You'd have me to desire

Then to stir up the fire;
And sure Hope is no liar

In whisp'ring to me

That the ghosts would depart
When you'd me near your heart,

Och hone! Widow Machree !

66

"O

T. J. LYNCH
(Living)

TIME AND THE VIRGIN

H Time, be kind and be my guide, now prithee come with me,

To where my love expectant waits beside the moonlit sea."

And Time consents,—and on they move; it was a sight most rare,

To see old Time with scythe and glass trip with this Virgin fair.

Through woods they pass, till near the path a little streamlet roll'd,

Still Time went on :-the maiden paused to deck her locks of gold.

Her form within the star-bright wave she view'd with fond delight;

She linger'd long-and when she rose old Time was out of sight.

With beating heart she eager sought the moonlit beach so fair;

But Time had pass'd;—her love was gone, and all was silence there.

“Ah, me!" she sigh'd in accents sweet, "too late I see my crime,

By trifling thus I have lost my love, as well as losing Time."

EDWARD LYSAGHT

(1763-1810)

KATE OF GARNAVILLA
Air-Roy's Wife

H

AVE you been at Garnavilla ?
Have you seen at Garnavilla
Beauty's train trip o'er the plain
With lovely Kate of Garnavilla?
Oh! she's pure as virgin snows
Ere they light on woodland hill-O;
Sweet as dew-drop on wild rose
Is lovely Kate of Garnavilla!

Philomel, I've listened oft

To thy lay, nigh weeping willow: Oh! the strain more sweet, more soft, That flows from Kate of Garnavilla. Have you been, etc.

As a noble ship I've seen

Sailing o'er the swelling billow, So I've marked the graceful mien Of lovely Kate of Garnavilla. Have you been, etc.

If poets' prayers can banish cares,

No cares shall come to Garnavilla;

Joy's bright rays shall gild her days,

And dove-like peace perch on her pillow.

Charming maid of Garnavilla!
Lovely maid of Garnavilla !
Beauty, grace, and virtue wait
On lovely Kate of Garnavilla.

MY AMBITION

ASE often visits shepherd-swains,

E or in the lowly cot disdains

To take a bit of dinner;

But would not for a turtle-treat,
Sit with a miser or a cheat,
Or cankered party sinner.

Ease makes the sons of labor glad,
Ease travels with the merry lad
Who whistles by his wagon;
With me she prattles all day long,
And choruses my simple song,

And shares my foaming flagon.

The lamp of life is soon burnt out;
Then who'd for riches make a rout,
Except a doating blockhead ?
When Charon takes 'em both aboard,
Of equal worth's the miser's hoard
And spendthrift's empty pocket.

In such a scurvy world as this
We must not hope for perfect bliss,
And length of life together;

We have no moral liberty
At will to live, at will to die,
In fair or stormy weather.