CATHARINE TYRRELL.

BY THOMAS FURLONG.

Sweet girls 'tis mine to frame each tender ditty,
Or touch the heart with many a thrilling air;
And now my theme shall be my blooming Kitty,
The first, the fairest, seen amidst the fair.
Young bud of beauty, all bright and peerless,
Long have I lov'd thee-and must yet love on;
Thy smile is cheering, when life looks cheerless;
Thy glance gives hope, when all hope seems gone.

Oh! might I wander down by bright Loch Errol,
There should I linger at the dawn of day;
To gaze in rapture on my own dear girl,

As thro' the green fields she bends her way

Is gile í 'n ́'n ekla, 's is deirge í 'ná 'n ghrián,

Is binneí 'n 3-cualáidh mé de cheóltáibh Ariámh, Yi'l Kén teach lea̸nná reácá fá An t-sráid so shiár, Yach n-ólfidh mé sláinte Chkitilín T’riáll.

Is truáigh nách bh-fuil me-si Kgus Citídh dheás, cháóín,
Fá chúl an cóím chuilinn go n-ólfama̸ois bra̸oín,
Már shúil le Dia díleks go d-tógfáinn A croídhe,

A's 30 d-tiúbhráinn á bháile ó ná mátháir liom í :

Léigh mé do litir A muich Kir An t-slíabh ;

Budh bhinne í'ná 10mád de cheóltáibh síghe

Páirt mhór de'm chruadhtán, gur leát cháíll mé mo

chill

Is mór A n-AzhKidh d'a̸námá é, á Chkitilín Tʼrikll.

Oh! sweetest! dearest! had I never met thee,

Calm nights and days I might still have known; But who that sees thee, can e'er forget thee?

Thine image fades but with life alone.

Oh! that we were in holy bonds united,

How sweet, how sacred, would that moment be;
The sails should flutter as with hearts delighted,
I and my lov'd one would cross the sea:

Or by some holly bush, in greenness blooming,
Our languid limbs we at noon might lay;

In love's dear dalliance the time consuming,
Scarce heeding seasons as they wore away.

dá bh-feicfeá-sá án chúilphion Agus 1 Kg siúbhál áir na bóithribh,

Ag ionnsa̸ídhe na h-úr-choille ́'s An drúchd Air á brózá, 'Yí mo shea̸rc í ’ŕí mo rún í, ‹'s ní'l tnúth Kici le h-óize, Agus rug sí bárr Kilne Kir mhnáibh brea̸ghthá ná Fodhla.

A m-béal-Kth-ná-gár á tá án stáid-bhea̸n bhreázh mhodhamhuil,

Bh-fuil A grudh már ná cíor-chon Kgus sgéimh Ann á clódh zeal,

budh bhinne guth K béil-sin 'ná 'n chéirseách s ná 'n smólách,

'Ynk An lonn-dubh Kir ná cóílltibh le soíllse án tráthnona.

Eirzhidh Ad shuidhe, a bhukchKill, Agus gleús dámh mo ghearrán,

No 30 leanfaidh me n stukidh-bheán úd shuGs Kiri na cnóckín,

Tá fí dá fíor-luadhadh liom ó bhídh sí ná leánbán,

'Y 30 m-budh bhinne liom n^óí n-uia̸ipe í 'ná 'n chuách T

na orgáín.

THE COOLIN.'

BY THOMAS FURLONG.

Had you seen my sweet Coolin at the day's early dawn,

When she moves thro' the wild wood, or the wide dewy

lawn;

There is joy-there is bliss in her soul-cheering smile, She's the fairest of the flowers of our green bosom'd

isle.

In Belanagar dwells the bright blooming maid,
Retired like the primrose that blows in the shade;
Still dear to the eye that fair primrose may be,
But dearer and sweeter is my Coolin to me.

Then boy, rouse you up! go and bring me my steed, Till I cross the green vales and the mountains with speed; Let me hasten far forward, my lov'd one to find,

And hear that she's constant, and feel that she's kind.