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HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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YOUNG ELLEN LORAINE.
When I parted from Erin heart-broken, to leave thee,
I dream'd not of falsehood, young Ellen Loralne, I thought, tho' but woman, thou wouldst not deceive ma—
Ah! why art thou faithless, young Ellen Loralne, I lov'd thee in sorrow, I sought thee in danger,
And dear was the peril and sweet was the pain, But now is thy look as the look of a stranger—
Ah! why art thou faithless, young Ellen LoraJne? O! thou wert the vision that brightened my pillow,
The star of my darkness, young Ellen Loraine, As the bloom to the rose, as the sun to the billow,
Thou cam'st to my slumber, young Ellen Loraine. Thou'It think of me yet, when the false world deceives thee.
And friends of gay fortune, look cold on thy wane, When the sheen on thy cheek, like the summer light leaves thee,
Thoujll think how I lov'd thee, young Ellen Loraine. 0! speak not to me; in those eyes I discover
The wrongs thou hast done me, young Ellen Loralne, To rest in the arms of a happier lover,
Go, lovely, but faithless, young Ellen Loralne! The moment of rapture, the vow and the token
They thrill In my bosom, and burn In my brain, Go, false one, and laugh at the heart thou has't broken,
Go, lovely, but faithless, young Ellen Loraine. |
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THE ROSE OF KILLARNEY.
Thro' Erin's green and bonny isle,
From Coleraine to Killarney's waters,
Each lovely haunt hath, had its song,
Of gallant sons and charming daughters!
But 0! there is one sunny spot,
To me more dear, more priz'd than any,
Where first in loveliness sprung up
The rose that blossoms in Killarney,
The rose that blossoms in Killarney, blossoms in Killarney,
The rose that blossoms in Killarney, blossoms in Killarney.
I thought when first her eye met mine,
My peace, my heart were gone forever,
I did not dare to speak of love.
For fear a breath the charm should sever;
Her cheeks are like the rose of May,
Her voice hath banish'd care from many,
No thought can wrong my bonny flow'r,
The rose that blossoms In Killarney.
The rose, etc. |
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LOVE'S LONGINGS.
To the conqueror his crowning,
First freedom to the slave. And air unto the drowning,
Sunk in the ocean's wave; And succor to the faithful,
Who fight their flag above, Are sweet, but far less grateful
Than were my lady's love. I know I am not worthy
Of one so young and bright; And yet I would do for thee
Far more than others might; I cannot give you pomp or gold.
If you should be my wife. But I can give you love untold,
And true In death or life. |
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