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IRISH MELODIES. |
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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 all so close the nymph hath lac'd it, Not a charm of beauty's mould
Presumes to stay where nature plac'd 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 refin'd,
But when its points are gleaming round Who can tell if they 're design'd
To dazzle merely, or to wound us. Pillow'd on my Nora's heart
In safer 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, tho' bright, Hath no such light As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina. |
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