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"HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
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COLLEEN DHAS CRUTHIN AMOE.
The beam on the streamlet was playing,
The dewdrop still hung on the thorn, When a blooming young couple were straying,
To taste the mild fragrance of morn. He sighed as he breathed forth his ditty.
And she felt her breast softly to glow: "O, look on your lover with pity,
Ma Colleen, dhas Cruthin Amoe." "Whilst green is yon bank's mossy pillow,
Or evening shall weep the soft tear, Or the streamlet shall steal 'neath the willow,
So long shall thy image be dear. O, fly to these arms for protection,
If pierced by the arrow of woe, Then smile on my tender affection,
Ma Colleen dhas Cruthin Amoe." She sighed as his ditty was ended,
Her heart was too full to reply; Oh, joy and compassion were blended
To light the mild beam of her eye. He kissed her soft hand: "What above thee
Could Heaven, in its bounty, bestow?" He kissed her soft cheek: "Oh, I love thee,
Ma Colleen dhas Cruthin Amoe." |
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DUBLIN BAY.
He sail'd away in a gallant bark,
Roy Nelll and his fair young bride, He had ventur'd all in that bounding ark
That danced o'er the sliver tide. But his heart was young and his spirit light.
And he dashed the tear away, As he watched the shore recede from sight.
Of his own sweet Dublin Bay. Three days they sail'd, and a storm arose.
And the lightning swept the deep, And the thunder-crash broke the short repose,
Of the weary sea-boy's sleep. Roy Nelll, he clasped his weeping bride,
And he kissed her tears away, "Oh, love, 'twas a fatal hour," she cried,
"When we left sweet Dublin Bay." On the crowded deck of the doomed ship,
Some stood in their mute despair. And some, more calm, with a holy lip,
Sought the God of the storm in prayer. "She has struck on the rock!" the seamen cried.
In the breath of their wild dismay, And the ship went down and the fair young bride
That sailed from Dublin Bay. |
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DRINK TO HER.
Drink to her who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh, The girl who gave to song
What gold could never buy. Oh, woman's heart was made
For minstrel hands alone; By other fingers played,
It yields not half the tone! Then here's to her who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh, The girl who gave to song
What gold could never buy. |
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