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 mháízhdeán bhreázh, mháordha̸, d'a̸ d-tugás-sá

m’Kon-toil,

Há tuig-si 30 bh-fuil éifeacht Ann sáidhbrea̸s gán grádh, A's an t-é chúm de'n g-cré sinn, is ukidh gheábhámásíd ar n-dKothain

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

A mhúirnín <'s « Annsa̸cht, gán mháilís gán chlámpár, d' d-tug mo chroídhe geán duit, tár A bh-feácás de mhnáibh,

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

A's má iompoízhir-si cám dámh beidh m’Anám A'd láimh.

Ir buachaill gán cheill tú, 's a'd zhlórthaibh ní'l

éifeacht,

Tabháir Kire dhuit fein, K’s ná léig ort An bás ;

Yi'l máóin mhór, ní❜l spreidh 'gád, priomh-cháirde ná

gKoltK;

'Y'mo chlíochán ni tháébhfeás leát, le m'a̸én-toil go 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.

Táréis mo réime fo chríocháibh Fáil,
'Imo léirmheasda̸ 'nn-Eirinn tár Kóíbhne cha̸ích,
Thug mé, is féuchtár An críona An Dáil,
M'a̸én-sheárc do bhéile n-í Chiárabháin.

An fhéath-bhruinne bhéul-táná, mhín tháis, bhláith,
Yháér-ghasda, shéughKin-ghlic, shítheách, shámh,
Ghéuz-fhada, dheud-chKilce, chíoch-chruinn m-bán,
Do léir-chuir mé A ngéibheann 's « g-cuíbhreách gráidh.

'P Kir fhéucháin A réidh-rosz már líg a száth,
'sa cráébh-fholta deázh-dháithte fíos go sa̸il,
A dhé neimhe, is ba̸éghal zur Ab nídh gán Kird,
Hach leur damh Air éunchor nách áidhche an L.

Is ceud binne d'Kon A bheith cla̸óídhte, tláith,
Az éisteacht le séís-zhuth « gjúíos-ghoib sháimh,
Tonk an mhéid is féidir le sa̸óíthibh d'fágháil,
de shíor-phortáibh Eireán K's Chaoimh-iocláis.

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 bosom'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.