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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER.
That life will, though lonely, be swe«t, If Its brightest enjoyment should bo
A smile and kind look when we must, And a place In thy memory.
ARRANMORE.
Oh! Arranmore, loved Arranmore,
How oft I dream of thee; And of those days when by thy shors
I wandered young and free. Full many a path I've tried since then
Through pleasure's flow'ry maze. But ne'er could And the bliss again
I felt in those sweet days. How blithe upon thy breezy cliff
At sunny morn I've stood, With heart as bounding as the sklfff
That danced along thy flood; Or when the western wave grew bright
With daylight's parting wing, Have sought that Eden in its light,
Which dreaming poets sing. That Eden where th' Immortal brave
Dwell in a land serene, Whose bowers beyond the shining wave
At sunset oft are seen; Ah, dream too full of saddening truth! >
Those mansions o'er the main Are like the hopes I built in youth,
As sunny and as vain. |
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AM I NOT FONDIY?
Thou, thou reign'st in this bosom,
There, there, hast thou thy throne; Thou, thou knowest that I love thee—
Am I not fondly thine own?
Yes, yes, yes, yes, am I not fondly thine own? Then, then, e'en as I love thee,
Say, say, wilt thou love me? Thoughts, thoughts, tender and true, love.
Say, wilt thou cherish for me?
Yes, yes, yes, yes, say, wilt thou cherish for me? Speak, speak, love, I implore thee,
Say, say, hope shall be thine, Thou, thou know'st that I love thee,
Say, but that thou wilt be mine!
Yes, yes, yes, yes, say but thou wilt be mine!
BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING.
Believe me, If all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away, Thou wouidst still be adored, as this moment thou art.
Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still. It is not while beauty and youth are thine own.
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear; No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close. As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose. |
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