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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. 3S
I'VE A SECRET TO TELL THEE.
I've a secret to tell thee, but hush! not here—
Oh, not where the world its vigil keeps; I'll seek to whisper It In thine ear,
On some shore where the Spirit of Silence slespi; Where Summer's wave unmurm'rlng dies,
Nor Fay can hear the fountain's gush; Where, if but a note her night-bird sighs,
The Rose salth, chldlngly, "Hush, sweet, hush!"
There, amid the deep silence of that hour,
When stars can be heard in ocean dip. Thyself shall, under some rosy bower.
Sit mute, with thy finger on thy Up; Like him, the boy who, born among
The flowers that on the Nile-stream blush, Sits ever thus—his only song,
To earth and heaven, "Hush, all, hush!" |
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KATE O'SHANE.
The cold winds of Autumn wall mournfully here; The leaves round me falling are faded and sere; But chill though the breeze be, and threat'nlng the storm, My heart, full of fondness, beats kindly and warm. ■ Oh! Dennis, dear, come back to me, I count the hours away from thee, Return and never part again From thine own darling—Kate O'Shane. 'Twas here we last parted, 'twas here we first met, And ne'er has he caused me one tear of regret; The seasons may alter, their change I defy, My heart's one glad summer when Dennis is by. Oh! Dennis, dear, etc. |
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KITTY TYRKELL.
You're looking as fresh as the morn, darling.
You're looking as bright as the day; But while on your charms I'm dilating,
You're stealing my poor heart away. But keep it and welcome, mavourneen.
Its loss I'm not going to mourn; Yet one heart's enough for a body,
So pray give me yours in return. Mavourneen, mavourneen,
0! pray give me yours in return. I've built me a neat little cot, darling,
I've pigs and potatoes in store; I've twenty good pounds in the bank, love.
And may be, a pound or two more. It's all very well to have riches,
But I'm such a covetous elf, I can't help still sighing for something,
And, darling, that something's yourself. Mavourneen, mavourneen,
And that something, you know, is yourself. You're smiling, and that's a good sign, darling.
Say "Yes," and you'll never repent. Or, if you would rather be silent,
Your silence I'll take for consent. That good-natured dimple's a tell-tale,
Now, all that I have is your own; This week you may be Kitty Tyrrell,
Next week you'll be Mistress Malone. Mavourneen, mavourneen.
You'll be my own Mistress Malone. |
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