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And Scotland's sons shall join "In the days of auld lang syne," With voice by mem'ry soften'd clear and low;

And the men of Erin's isle, Battling sorrow with a smile, Sball sing "St. Patrick's morning" void

of care;

And thus we pass the day, As we journey on our way— Oh gaily goes the ship when the wind blows fair.

WHAT WILL YOU DO, LOVE?

SAMUEL LOVER.

"WHAT will you do, love, when I am going

With white sail flowing-the seas beyond?

What will you do, love, when waves divide us,

And friends may chide us for being fond ?"

"Though waves divide us, and friends be chiding,

In faith abiding, I'll still be true,

And I'll pray for thee on the stormy

ocean,

With deep devotion-that's what I'll do."

"What will you do, love, if distant tidings

Thy fond confidings should undermine? And I abiding 'neath sultry skies, Should think other eyes were bright as thine ?"

"Oh! name it not, though guilt and shame

Were on thy name, I'd still be true; ⚫But that heart of thine, should another share it,

I could not bear it-what would I do?"

"What would you do, love, when home returning,

With hope high burning, with wealth for you,

If my bark that bounded o'er foreign foam,

Should be lost near home, ah! what would you do?"

"So thou wert spared I'd bless the

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morrow,

In want and sorrow, that left me you,

And I'd welcome thee from the wasting billow,

Thy heart my pillow-that's what I'd do."

ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE
DEEP.

MRS. WILLARD.

ROCK'D in the cradle of the deep
I lay me down in peace to sleep,
Secure, I rest upon the wave,
For Thou, oh! Lord, hast power to save.
I know Thou wilt not slight my call,
For Thou dost mark the sparrow's fall,
And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.

And such the trust that still were mine, Though stormy winds sweep o'er the brine,

Or though the tempest's fiery breath Roused me from slumber to wreck and death!

In ocean cave, still safe with Thee
The germ of immortality!

And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.

SHUILE AGRA.

As I roved through my new garden

bowers,

To gaze upon fast-fading flowers,
And think upon the happiest hours
That fled in summer's bloom,
Shuile, shuile, shuile agra,
Time can only ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Gotheen mavourneen slaun.

"Tis often I sat on my true love's knee,
And many a fond story he told me:
He told me things that ne'er would be,
Gotheen mavourneen slaun.
Shuile, shuile, etc.

I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel,
When flax is spun I'll sell my wheel,
To buy my love a sword and shield,
Gotheen mavourneeu slaun.
Shuile, shuile, etc.

I'll dye my petticoat, I'll dye it red, And round the world I'll beg my bread, That all my friends would wish me dead, Gotheen mavourneen slaun.

Shuile, shuile, etc.

I wish I was on Brandon Hill,
'Tis there I'll sit and cry my fill,
That every tear would turn a mill,
Gotheen mavourneen slaun.
Shuile, shuile, etc.

No more am I that blooming maid
That used to rove the valley shade:
My youth and bloom are all decayed,
Gotheen mavourneen slaun.
Shuile, shuile, etc.

THE COLLEEN BAWN.

J. E. CARPENTER.

ОCH! Patrick darlin', would you lave me
To sail across the big salt sea?
I never thought you'd thus decave me ;
It's not the truth you're tellin' me!
Though Dublin is a mighty city,

It's there I should be quite forlorn, For, poor and friendless, who would pity—

Left lonely there-your Colleen Bawn?

You tell me that your friends are leaving. The dear green isle, to cross the main, But don't you think they'll soon be

grieving

For dear ould Ireland once again?

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