| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
% |
||
|
|
|||
|
COME O'ER THE SEA.
Com© o'er the sea, maiden, with me—
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; Seasons may roll, but the true soul
Burns the same, where'er It goes. Let Fate frown on, so we love and part not; 'Tls life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art mot; Then come o'er the sea, maiden, with me—
Come wherever the wild wind blows; Seasons may roll, but the true soul
Burns the same, where'er it goes. Was not the sea for the free.
Land for courts and chains alone? Here we are slaves, but, on the waves,
Love and liberty's all our own; No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, All earth forgot, and all heaven around us— Then come o'er the sea, maiden, with me,
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; Seasons may roll, but the true soul
Burns the same where'er it goes. |
|||
|
|
|||
|
BEAUTIFUL ISLE OF THE SEA!
Beautiful Isle of the Sea
Smile on the brow of the waters! Dear are your mem'rles to me,
Sweet as the Bongs of your daughters, Over your mountains and vales,
Down by each murmuring river, Cheer'd by the flow'r-lovlng gales,
Oh! could I wander for ever! Land of the True and the Old,
Home ever dear unto me— - Fountain of pleasure untold,
Beautiful Isle of the Sea! Fountain of pleasure untold,.
Beautiful, beautiful Isle of the Sea!
Oft, on your shell-girdled shore, .
Ev'ning has found me reclining, Visions of youth dreaming o'er,
Down where the light-house was shining, Far from the gladness you gave.
Far from all joys worth possessing, Still, o'er the lone, weary wave,
Comes to the wand'rer your blessing! Land of the True and the Old,
Home ever dear unto me— Fountain of pleasure untold,
Beautiful Isle of the Sea! Fountain of pleasure untold,
Beautiful, beautiful Isle of the Sea! |
|||
|
|
|||
|
COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM.
Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer;
Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here,
Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast,
And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.
Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same
Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame?
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's In that heart—
I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art!
Thou hast called me thy angel In moments of bliss,
And thy angel I'll be, 'mid the horrors of this,
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,
And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there, too! |
|||