Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, And the oftener you come, the more I'll adore you!

Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; The green of the trees looks far greener than

ever,

And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!"

IRISH LOVE-SONG.

KATHARINE TYNAN.

Would God I were that tender apple-blossom,
Floating and falling from the twisted bough,
To lie and faint within your silken bosom,
As that does now!

Or would I were a little burnished apple
For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold,

While sun and shade your robe of lawn will dapple,

Your hair's spun gold.

Yea, would to God I were among the roses

That lean to kiss you as you float between!

While on the lowest branch a bud uncloses
To touch you, Queen!

Nay, since you will not love, would I were growing

A happy daisy in the garden-path;

That so your silver foot might press me going, Even unto death!

WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST?

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Where shall the lover rest

Whom the fates sever

From his true maiden's breast

Parted forever?

Where, through groves deep and high

Sounds the far billow,

Where early violets die

Under the willow.

Eleu loro

Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through the summer day
Cool streams are laving:
There, while the tempests sway,
Scarce are boughs waving;

There thy rest shalt thou take,
Parted forever,

Never again to wake
Never, O never!

Eleu loro

Never, O never!

Where shall the traitor rest,

He, the deceiver,

Who could win maiden's breast,

Ruin, and leave her?

In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying,

Where mingles war's rattle

With groans of the dying;

Eleu loro

There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap

O'er the false-hearted;

His warm blood the wolf shall lap
Ere life be parted:
Shame and dishonor sit

By his grave ever;

Blessing shall hallow it

Never, O never!

Eleu loro

Never, O never!

33

ON ALL SOULS NIGHT.

DORA SIGERSON.

O mother, mother, I swept the hearth, I set his
chair and the white board spread,

I prayed for his coming to our kind Lady when
Death's sad doors would let out the dead;
A strange wind rattled the window-pane, and
down the lane a dog howled on,

I called his name and the candle flame burnt dim,
pressed a hand the door-latch upon.

Deelish! Deelish; my woe forever that I could not sever coward flesh from fear.

I called his name and the pale Ghost came; but I was afraid to meet my dear.

O mother, mother, in tears I checked the sad hours past of the year that's o'er,

Till by God's grace I might see his face and hear the sound of his voice once more;

The chair I set from the cold and wet, he took
when he came from unknown skies

Of the land of the dead, on my bent brown head
I felt the reproach of his saddened eyes;
I closed
my lids on my
heart's desire, crouched by
the fire, my voice was dumb.

At my clean-swept hearth he had no mirth, and at my table he broke no crumb.

Deelish! Deelish; my woe forever that I could not sever coward flesh from fear.

His chair put aside when the young cock cried, and I was afraid to meet my dear.

THE BOATMAN OF KINSALE.

THOMAS DAVIS.

His kiss is sweet, his word is kind,

His love is rich to me;

I could not in a palace find

A truer Love than he.

The eagle shelters not his nest

From hurricane and hail

More bravely than he guards my breast,
The boatman of Kinsale.

The wind that round the Fastnet sweeps
Is not a whit more pure,

The goat that down Knock Sheehy leaps
Has not a foot more sure.

No firmer hand nor freer eye
E'er faced an autumn gale.

De Courcy's heart is not so high,
The Boatman of Kinsale.