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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
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I0VE THEE, DEAEEST, LOVE THEE!
Love thee, dearest, love thee?
Yes, by yonder star I swear, Which, through tears, above,
Shines so sadly lair, Though too oft dim with tears like him,
Like him my truth will shine; And love thee, dearest, love thee?
Yes—till death I'm thine!
Leave thee, dearest, leave thee?
No—that star Is not more true; When my vows deceive thee,
He will wander, too. A cloud of night may veil his light,
And death shall darken mine; But leave thee, dearest, leave thee?
No—till death I'm thine! |
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NORA CREINA.
Lesbla hath a beaming eye,
But no one knows for whom It beameth; Right and left its arrows fly,
But what they aim at no one dreameth. Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon
My Nora's lid, that seldom rises; Few Its looks, but every one,
Like unexpected light, surprises.
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear, My gentle, bashful Nora Creina,
Beauty lies in many eyes. But love in yours, my Nora Creina!
Lesbia wears a robe of gold,
But also close the nymph hath laced it, Not a charm of beauty's mold
Presumes to stay where Nature placed It. Oh, my Nora's gown for me,
That floats as wild as mountain breezes, Leaving every beauty free
To sink or swell as Heaven pleases.
Yes, my Nora Creina, dear, My simple, graceful Nora Creina,
Nature's dress is loveliness— The dress you wear, my Nora Creina!
Lesbia hath a wit refined,
But when Its points are gleaming round us. Who can tell If they're designed
To dazzle merely, or to wound us? Pillowed on my Nora's heart,
In safe slumber love reposes— Bed of peace! whose roughest part
Is but the crumpling of the roses.
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear. My mild, my artless Nora Creina,
Wit, though bright, hath no such light As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina! |
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IRISH EMIGRANT'S LAMENT.
I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side, On a bright May morning long ago,
When first you were my bride; The corn was springing fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud and high, An<*- tfce red was on thy lip, Mary,
And the love light In your eye. |
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