Song.

The evening air past by my cheek,
The leaves above were stirr'd,
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

Fast silent tears were flowing,
When something stood behind,
A hand was on my shoulder,

I knew its touch was kind;
It drew me nearer-nearer,
We did not speak a word,

But the beating of our own hearts
Was all the sound I heard.

17

MONCKTON MILNES.

THE VIOLET.

A LOVELY flower, in secret bower,
Invisible I dwell;

For blessing made, without parade,
Known only by my smell.

C

BISHOP HORNE.

THE WELCOME.

OME in the evening, or come in the morning,
Come when you're looked for, or come without

warning,

Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,

And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you.
Light is my heart since the day we were plighted,
Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted;
The green of the leaves looks far greener than ever,
And the linnets are singing,
"true lovers don't sever!"

I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them; Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom. I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you; I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that wont tire you.

Oh! your step's like the rain to the summer-vex'd farmer,

Or sabre and shield to a knight without armour;
I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me,
Then, wandering, I'll wish you, in silence, to love me.

The Welcome.

19

We'll look through the trees at the cliff, and the eyrie,
We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy,
We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river,
Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her.
Oh! she'll whisper you, "Love as unchangeably

beaming,

And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming,
Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver,
As our souls flow in one down eternity's river."

So come in the evening, or come in the morning,
Come when you're looked for, or come without warning,
Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,
And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you!
Light is my heart since the day we were plighted,
Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted;
The green of the trees looks far greener than ever,
And the linnets are singing, " true lovers dont sever!"

THOMAS DAVIS.

A LYRIC.

SHE is not fair to outward view,
As many maidens be;
Her loveliness I never knew

Until she smiled on me.

Oh, then I saw her eye was bright,
A well of love, a spring of light.

But now her looks are coy and cold-
To mine they ne'er reply;
And yet I cease not to behold

The love-light in her eye:
Her very frowns are sweeter far

Than smiles of other maidens are.

HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

THE PRIMROSE.

WHEN time's dark winter shall be o'er,
His storms and tempests laid,
Like me you'll rise a fragrant flower,

But not like me to fade.

BISHOP HORNE.

R

THE HUSBAND'S SONG.

AINY and rough sets the day,-
There's a heart beating for somebody;
I must be up and away,-

Somebody's anxious for somebody.
Thrice hath she been to the gate,-
Thrice hath she listen'd for somebody;
'Midst the night, stormy and late,
Somebody's waiting for somebody.

There'll be a comforting fire,

There'll be a welcome for somebody; One, in her neatest attire,

Will look to the table for somebody. Though the stars fled from the west, There is a star yet for somebody, Lighting the home he loves best,

Warming the bosom of somebody.