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IN THIS CALM SHELTERED VILLA.

BY THOMAS FURLONG.

In this calm shelter'd villa my fair one remains,
The flower of all flow'rets, the pride of the plains;
She's

my heart's hoarded treasure, my soul's sole delight, In winter she's my summer, and my sunshine at night.

Oh! love, cruel love, thou hast led me astray,
My heart sinks within me, and my strength wastes away;
Speak, speak, dearest maiden, to my passion reply,
Or breathe all I dread, and then leave me to die.

Oh! thou my soul's darling! most lovely, most dear, There's nought can bring pleasure if thou art not near; Our trust through the future in kind heaven shall be, I'll long not for wealth love! if bless'd but with thee.

A's a mhíízhdeán bhrea̸gh, mháordha, d'a̸ d-tugas-sa

m'Kon-toil,

Nú tuig-si go bh-fuil éifeácht Ann sa̸idhbrea̸s gán grádh, A's An t-é chúm de'n g-cré sinn, is uaidh gheKbháma̸óíd Ar n-dKothain

'Y Kir bólacht ní thréigfinn tú, s táim céusdk Kz do ghrádh.

A mhuirnín <'s A Annsa̸cht, gán mháilís gán chlámpár, d' d-tug mo chroídhe gea̸n duit, tár A bh-feácás de mhnáibh,―

í féidir liom zán ránn á bheith, leis an t-é bh-fuil mo ghreann Kir,

A's m« 10mpoíghir-si cám dámh beidh m'a̸nám K’d LKimh.

Ir buachaill gán cheill tú, K's 'd zhlórtháibh ní'l éifeacht,

Tabhair Kire dhuit fein, K's ná léig ort An bás;

Hi'l maoin mhór, ní'l spreidh 'gad, priomh-cháirde ná gKolta;

'Y'mo chlíothún ni tháébhfeás leát, le m’Kén-toil zo bráth.

Then smile my beloved—let this coldness depart,

Oh! come till I press thee in bliss to this heart; Nay! nay—then I'm doom'd for thy loss to repine, I die, dearest maiden, and the blame shall be thine.

Nay, call me not senseless—nay, deem me not vain,

Nor think that of pangs all unfelt I complain;

Tho' lowly my kindred, and scanty my store,
Oh! why wilt thou tell me to love thee no more.

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Táréis mo réime fo chríocháibh Fáil,
'Ymo léirmhea̸sda̸ 'nn-Eirinn tár Kóíbhne cha̸ích,
Thuz mé, is féuchtár An críona An Dáil,
M'kén-sheare do bhéile n-í Chiárabháin.

An Fhé<th-bhruinne bhéul-táná, mhín tháis, bhláith,
Sháér-ghasda, shéughKin-ghlic, shítheách, shámh,
Ghéuz-fhada, dheud-cháilce, chioch-chruinn m-bán,
do léir-chuir mé « ngéibhea̸nn 's á g-cuíbhreách gráidh.

'Y Kir fhéucháin A réidh-rosz már líg á száth,
'Ya cráébh-fholta deKzh-dhKithte fíos zo súil,
A dhé neimhe, is báéghal zur Ab nídh gán áird,
nach leur damh Air éunchor nách óídhche an lá.

Is ceud binne d'on a bheith cloidhte, tláith,
Az éisteacht le séís-zhuth A zrúíos-ghoib sháimh,
long an mhéid is féidir le sa̸óíthibh d'fágháil,
De shíor-phortáibh Eirea̸n A's ChKóímh-iocláis.

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ELEANOR O'KIRWAN.

BY EDWARD LAWSON, ESQ.

All around the green isle of my birth,

Too long I've delighted to rove;

And was I not happiest on earth,

To fix on dear Ellen my love?

Kind, generous, gentle, and coy,

Her white boson's unconscious of guile;

Her mouth, a rich casket of joy,

Enchanted my heart with a smile.

But her eyes' irresistible rays,

Like diamonds, so dazzle my sight;

(Oh God!) that I scarce, in amaze,

Can distinguish the day from the night.

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