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BONNY ELOISE.

W. PERCIVAL.

SWEET is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides,

On the clear winding way to the sea, And dearer than all storied streams on earth besides,

Is this bright rolling river to me, But sweeter, dearer, yes dearer far than these,

Who charms when others all fail, Is blue-eyed bonny Eloise,

The Belle of the Mohawk Vale.

Oh, sweet are the scenes of my boy hood's sunny hour,

That bespangle the gay vally o'er, And dear are the friends seen thro' memory's fond tears

That have lived in the blest days of

yore,

But sweeter, dearer, yes dearer far thau these,

Who charms when others all fail, Is blue-eyed bonny Eloise,

The Belle of the Mohawk Vale.

Oh, sweet are the moments when dream. ing I roam,

Through my loved haunts now mossy and grey,

And dearer than all is my childhood's hallowed home,

That is crumbling now slowly away, But sweeter, dearer, yes dearer far than these,

Who charms when others all fail,
Is blue-eyed bonny Eloise,
The Belle of the Mohawk Vale.

IRISH MARY.

JOHN BANIM.

AIR-"Lesbia hath a Beaming Eye."

FAR away from Erin's strand,

And valleys wide and sounding waters Still she is, in every land,

One of Erin's real daughters: Oh! to meet her here is like

A dream of home and natal mountains, On our hearts their voices strike

We hear the gushing of their fountains! Yes! our Irish Mary dear!

Our own, our real Irish Mary ! A flower of home, fresh blooming come, Art thou to us our Irish Mary!

Round about us here we see

Bright eyes like hers, and sunny faces, Charming all !-if all were free

Of foreign airs, of borrowed graces. Mary's eye it flashes truth!

And Mary's spirit, Mary's nature, "Irish Lady," fresh in youth,

Have beam'd o'er every look and feature!

Yes! our Irish Mary dear!

When La Tournure doth make us
weary,

We have you, to turn unto
For native grace, our Irish Mary.

Sighs of home!-her Erin's song's

O'er all their songs we love to listen; Tears of home !—her Erin's wrongs

Subdue our kindred eyes to glisten! Oh! should woe to gloom consign

The clear fireside of love and honor, You will see a holier sign

Of Irish Mary bright upon her! Yes! our Irish Mary dear

Will light that home, though e'er so

dreary,

Shining still o'er clouds of ill,

Sweet star of life, our Irish Mary !

NO ONE TO LOVE.

No one to love, none to caress, Roaming alone through this world's wil derness :

Sad is my heart, joy is unknown:
For, in my sorrow, I'm weeping alone;
No gentle voice, no tender smile
Makes me rejoice, or cares beguile.
No one to love, none to caress,
Roaming alone through this world's wil-
derness:

Sad is my heart, joy is unknown;
For, in my sorrow, I'm weeping alone.
In dreams alone, loved ones I see,
And well-known voices then whisper to

me:

Sighing I wake, waking I weep;
Soon with the loved and the lost I shall

sleep:

Oh! blissful rest! what heart would stay Unloved, unbless'd, from Heaven away? No one to love, etc.

No one to love, none to caress,
None to respond to this heart's tender

ness

Trusting I wait; God, in his love, Promises rest in his mansions above-

Oh, bliss in store! oh, joy mine own! There never more to weep alone !1No one to love, etc.

THY HARP, BELOVED ERIN.

LEMAN REDE.

AIR-" Erin-go-bragh."

THY harp, beloved Erin, sounds over the deep,

Like the murmuring sigh of an infant asleep

My own native Ireland-my dear native Ireland,

Oh, Erin-go-bragh.

The gales that blow o'er thee, lovely Ireland, are dear,

As a mother's caress, or a penitent's tear,
Oh, the heart homes of Ireland--the
dear, dear homes of Ireland,
Oh, Erin-go-bragh.

The dove ne'er returned whom the ark saw depart,

For he built an abode in Hibernia's

heart,

Olive branch'd Ireland, olive branch. d

Ireland,

Oh, Erin-go-bragh.

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