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While skies and ocean blending,

And bitter howls the blast, And the daring tar, 'twixt life and death, Clings to the shattered mast! Come, sit thee down, etc.

MARY WEEP NO MORE FOR ME.
JOHN LOWE.

THE moon had climb'd the highest hill
That rises o'er the source of Dee,
And from the eastern summit shed

Her silver light on tower and tree; When Mary laid her down to sleep,

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea; Then soft and low a voice was heard Saying "Mary weep no more .for me."

She from her pillow gently raised

Her head to ask who there might be, And saw young Sandy shiv'ring stand, With pallid cheek and hollow ee. "O, Mary dear! cold is my clay, It lies beneath a stormy sea; Far, far from thee I sleep in death, So Mary, weep no more for me!

Three stormy nights and stormy days We tossed upon the raging main, And long we strove our bark to save,

But all our striving was in vain. E'en then, when horror chill'd my blood, My heart was fill'd with love for thee ; The storm is past, and I at rest,

So Mary, weep no more for me!

"O maiden dear, thyself prepare !

We soon shall meet upon that shore Where love is free from doubt or care,

And thou and I shall part no more." Loud crow'd the cock, the shadow fled ! No more of Sandy could she see ! But soft the passing spirit said,

"O Mary, weep no more for me!"

HIBERNIA'S LOVELY JEAN.

WHEN parting from the Scottish shore,
And the Highland's mossy banks,
To Germany we all sailed o'er,
To join the hostile ranks;
At length in Ireland we arrived,
After a long campaign,

Where a bonny maid my heart be

trayed―

She's Hibernia's lovely Jean.

Her cheeks were of the roseate hue,
With the bright blinks of her e’en,
Besparkling with the drops of dew,

That spangle the meadows green.
Jean Cameron ne'er was half so fair,
No! nor Jessie of Dunblane;
No princess fine can her outshine-
She's Hibernia's lovely Jean.

This bonny lass of Irish braw,
Was of a high degree,
Her parents said a soldier's bride,
Their daughter ne'er should be.
Overwhelmed with care, grief and de

spair,

No hope does now remain, Since the nymph divine cannot be mine, She's Hibernia's lovely Jean.

My tartan plaid I will forsake,
My commission I'll resign,
I'll make this bonny lass my bride,
If the lassie will be mine.

Then in Ireland where the graces dwell, Forever I'll remain,

And in Hymen's band join heart in

hand,

Wi' Hibernia's lovely Jean.

Should war triumphant sound again,
And call her sons to arms,
Or Neptune waft me o'er the flood,
Far from Jeannie's charms;
Should I be laid in honor's bed,
By a ball or a dart be slain,
Death's pangs would cure the pains I

bear

For Hibernia's lovely Jean.

NOREEN.

G. LINLEY.

NOREEN, darling! don't look so shy—
It kills me, that glance of your eye;
Oh, go where I will,
It follows me still,

Beaming bright, like a star in the sky. While pressing your hand yesterday, As idly we saunter'd along,

Each word that I wanted to say Expired at the polnt of my tongueFor as in a book

I read by your look,

That you seem well to know what I

mean.

Yes, I love you, my darling Noreen !

Noreen if to love you be wrong,
The blame to my heart doth belong.
For morn, noon, and night,
You're all its delight,

And your name the sweet theme of my song.

Then, darling, no longer delay,
Your glances my heart have undone,
That smile says what I wish'd to say,
To-morrow we two shall be one.
The priest and a ring,

Will best settle the thing,
And explain what I really do mean.
Yes, I love you my darling Noreen !

THE MAY-DEW.

SAMUEL LOVER.

COME with me, love, I'm seeking

A spell in the young year's flowers; The magical May-dew is weeping, Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs; Its pearls are more precious than those they find

In jewell'd India's sea;

For the dew-drops, love, might serve to bind

Thy heart, for ever, to me!

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