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And often am I blarnèd
As soon as text is named :
And slink away to Sally, -
And she lives in our alley. .
The dance o' last Whit-Monday night exceeded
all before; No pretty girl for miles around was missing from
the floor; But Mary kept the belt of love, and 0, but she
was gay ; She danced a jig, she sung a song, and took my
When Christmas comes about again,
When she stood up for dancing, her steps were 0, then I shall have money!
so complete, I'll hoard it up, and, box and all,
The music nearly killed itself, to listen to her I'll give it to my honey ;
feet; And would it were ten thousand pound ! The fiddler mourned his blindness, he heard her I'd give it all to Sally ;
so much praised, For she's the darling of my heart,
But blessed himself he was n't deaf, when once And she lives in our alley.
her voice she raised.
And evermore I'm whistling or lilting what you
| sung ;
Your smile is always in my heart, your name upon And but for she I'd better be
my tongue ; A slave, and row a galley;
But you've as many sweethearts as you'd count But when my seven long years are out,
on both your hands, O, then I 'll marry Sally!
And for myself there's not a thumb or little 0, then we 'll wed, and then we 'll bed, —
finger stands. But not in our alley!
0, you're the flower of womankind, in country
or in town;
The higher I exalt you, the lower I'm cast down. LOVELY MARY DONNELLY.
If some great lord should come this way and see
your beauty bright, O LOVELY Mary Donnelly, it 's you I love the And you to be his lady, I 'down it was but right.
best ! If fifty girls were round you, I ’d hardly see the O, might we live together in lofty palace hall, rest;
Where joyful music rises, and where scarlet cur
where it will,
0, might we live together in a cottage mean and Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before small, me still
With sods of grass the only roof, and mud the
only wall! Her eyes like mountain water that 's flowing on a rock,
o lovely Mary Donnelly, your beauty's my disHow clear they are ! how dark they are ! and
tress ; they give me many a shock ;
It's far too glorious to be mine, but I'll never Red rowans warm in sunshine, and wetted with
wish it less ; a shower,
The proudest place would fit your face, and I am Could ne'er express the charming lip that has poor and low, me in its power.
But blessings be about you, dear, wherever you
may go ! Her nose is straight and handsome, her eyebrows
lifted up, Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth like
THE FAITHFUL LOVERS. a china cup; Her hair 's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and I'd been away from her three years, -- about that, so fine, —
. And I returned to find my Mary true ; It's rolling down upon. her neck, and gathered And though I'd question her, I did not doubt that in a twine.
| It was unnecessary so to do.
'T was by the chimney-corner we were sitting : Widow inachree, now the summer is come,
“Mary,” said I, “have you been always true?" | Och hone! widow machree, “Frankly," says she, just pausing in her knitting, When everything smiles, should a beauty look “I don't think I've unfaithful been to you :
glum? But for the three years past I 'll tell you what
Och hone! widow machree ! I've done ; then say if I've been true or not.
See the birds go in pairs,
And the rabbits and hares ; “When first you left my grief was uncontrollable; Why, even the bears Alone I mourned my miserable lot;
Now in couples agree; And all who saw me thought me inconsolable,
And the mute little fish, Till Captain Clifford came from Aldershott.
Though they can't spake, they wish, — To flirt with him amused me while 't was new :
Och hone! widow machree! I don't count that unfaithfulness —- do you ?
Widow machree, and when winter comes in, "The next--O! let me see-was Frankie Phipps;
Och hone! widow machree, --
Och hone! widow machree!
And the kettle sings songs
Full of family glee ; “Lord Cecil Fossmore -- only twenty-one ---
While alone with your cup Lent me his horse. O, how we rode and raced ! Like a hermit you sup, We scoured the downs --- we rode to hounds —
Och hone! widow machree! such fun ! And often was his arm about my waist, - And how do you know, with the comforts I've That was to lift me up and down. But who
towld, Would call just that unfaithfulness? Would you ? | Och hone! widow machree, ---
But you 're keeping some poor fellow out in the “Do you know Reggy Vere ? Ah, how he sings !
cowld ? Wemet, —-'t was at a picnic. O, such weather!
Och hone! widow machree ! He gave me, look, the first of these two rings
With such sịns on your head, When we were lost in Cliefden woods together. Sure your peace would be fled ; Ah, what a happy time we spent, -we two !
Could you sleep in your bed I don't count that unfaithfulness to you.
Without thinking to see
Some ghost or some sprite, “I've yet another ring from him; d' ye see
That would wake you each night, The plain gold circlet that is shining here?”
Crying “Och hone! widow machree !" I took her hand : “O Mary! can it be
That you —” Quoth she, “that I am Mrs. Vere. Then take my advice, darling widow machree, --I don't call that unfaithfulness - do you ?"
Och hone! widow machree, "No," I replied, “ for I am married too.” And with my advice, faith, I wish you 'd take me,
Och hone! widow machree!
Then to stir up the fire ;
And sure hope is no liar
In whispering to me
That the ghosts would depart
When you 'd me near your heart, -
Och hone! widow machree !
THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN.
THE laird o' Cockpen he's proud and he's great,
His mind is ta’en up with the things o' the state;
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,
| But favor wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.
Her rippling waves of golden hair
In one great coil were tightly twisted ; But locks would break it, here and there,
And curl about where'er they listed.
And then her sleeve came down, and I
Fastened it up --- her hands were doughy; 0, it did take the longest time!
Her arın, Ned, was so round and snowy. She blushed, and trembled, and looked shy;
Somehow that made me all the bolder; Her arch lips looked so red that I -
Well -- found her head upon my shoulder.
A POET loved a Star,
OWEN MEREDITH (LORD LYTTON).
We're to be married, Ned, next month;
Come and attend the wedding revels.
Are the most miserable devils !
And if you are uncertain whether