Gra Gal Asthore!

Yet never from my lips you'll know,

Gra Gal Asthore !

Who worked our ruin here below,

Gra Gal Asthore !

Why should I make your tears to flow?

Gra Gal Asthore !

Your babe upon your breast can bring

Gra Gal Asthore !

Joy in the midst of sorrowing,

Gra Gal Asthore !

Would I new shadows o'er you fling?

Gra Gal Asthore !

Oh! sometimes, when they say you're sad,

Gra Gal Asthore !

God pardon me! my heart is glad,

Gra Gal Asthore !

You're thinking of the joy we had,

Gra Gal Asthore !

Oh! He is just: the day will be,

Gra Gal Asthore !

When all made clear 'tween you and me,

Gra Gal Asthore !

Our lives' destroyer you will see,

Gra Gal Asthore !

61

IN THE "BAD TIMES."

66 AURICE asthore, it's the night that's cowld,
The wind is whistlin' thro' the dure;
But gramachree, your hand I'll hould—
And see-the childres on the flure:
Shure, if God laves me thim and you,
I'll not complain at what He'll do.

Asthore, I know your heart is sick
Wid waitin' for what stays so long,
But when He likes, He comforts quick,
And harvest time 'll see you sthrong:
Och, shure He's good, avick machree,
He hasn't taken you from me.

"See, I'm as willin' as the day—

There's the two colleens and the boys-
Asthore, you're heeding what I say?-

Whisht, whisht, allannahs, whisht your noise :
Maurice mavourneen, turn your head,
And spake to me-I'm full o' dread.

"Is it the pain, asthore machree "?
She bent her o'er the squalid bed,
Then shrieking, sank on failing knee,
To meet the cold stare of the dead:
For suddenly the doom was spoken,
All silently, a tired heart broken.

My Dermot.

63

MY DERMOT.

Y Dermot, lave me,

But don't desave me,

Wid flatterin' words, that can't come thrue,
I'm not so consated,

As to think it's fated,

That a poor little colleen is to match wid you.

Shure my heart's love is given

To you and to Heaven,

Och, wirrasthrue, you've the biggest part;

But, Love, don't mind me,

The salt tears may blind me,

But they'll never know I've a breakin' heart.

Don't

you come near me,

Or thry to cheer me,

I'll bear it betther if I'm let alone;

Shure God may send healin'

For this sore, sore feelin',

And His angels pity me when you are gone.

Asthore, you're sighin',

But you're not replyin',

We were born for this throuble-both me and you ;

What! you coudn't lave me,

And you'll not desave me,

Och, Holy Mother-Is it thrue? Is it thrue ?

A LITTLE FLIRT.

LIRTING, laughing, chattering Polly,
Artful, saucy little jade,

Tho' it sounds like utter folly,

Yet of you I'm half afraid.

There you go, your ringlets flying,
And your rosy lips apart,
Smiling now, and now half sighing,
Wounding both in head and heart.

Stop awhile, you tyrant tiny,

Don't jerk thus your dress away, Let me stroke these tresses shiny, While you hear what I've to say.

You are cruel-come, no pouting--
And don't care what pain you give;
Yes, the fact there is no doubting,
You were made but to deceive.

Late I saw you with poor Harry,
Whispering slyly 'neath the blind;
Ay, that shaft did not miscarry,
And you think I never mind.

Then with handsome Ned you're walking,
Botanizing-by the way-
Or with sober Fred you're talking
Politics, perhaps, you'll say.

Go, you laughing chattering darling;
Go, I must your sins forget;
Do not mind an old maid's snarling,
Flirting is your forte, my pet.

Harold and Edith.

65

E

HAROLD AND EDITH.

(From "Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings.")

ASSION and pain were on his brow,
His mien was sad, his speech was low,

While firm resolve had left its trace
In the pale features of her face.

"I come to tell thee all is o'er,
Edith can never claim thee more,
Duty forbids that I should be
Aught save a memory to thee."

"Hush! hush! be still, thou faithful heart,
Never will Harold from thee part;
Thee I have loved from earliest youth,
Dare I dishonour thus my truth?
No power on earth can us divide,
E'er yon moon wanes thou art my bride;
What meddling fool durst say me nay?
Oh! turn not from my arms away."

Slowly her eyes to his she raised,

And tenderly upon him gazed:

Harold, my own loved one," she said,

"To thee I must be as the dead,

"Another bride they bid thee take,

66

'Nay, shrink not, lest my heart should break. ""Tis for our own dear country's sake,

"Not to a woman I resign

All the dear hopes that once were mine;
"Thou weddest England, she shall be
"More than thine Edith unto thee."