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And she will be his bride! at the altar

he'll give her

The love that was too pure for a heartless deceiver.

The world may think me gay, for my feelings I smother;

Oh! thou hast been the cause of this anguish my mother!

I HAVE COME FROM A HAPPY LAND.

I HAVE Come from a happy land,
Where care is unknown,
I have parted a merry band,
To make thee mine own.
Haste, haste, fly with me,
Where Love's banquet waits for thee;
Thine its sweets shall be,
Thine, thine alone.

The summer has its heavy cloud,
The rose-leaf will fall;

But in our home joy wears no shroud,

Never does it pall,

Each new morning ray,
Leaves no sigh for yesterday,
No smile pass'd away,
Would we recall.

Is trouble on thy youthful brow,
Sorrow on thy soul?

O heed them not who for thee now
Wreath the midnight bowl.
There you'll seek in vain
For a balm to banish pain:
Nought your lip can drain
Will grief control.

But the touch of a gentle hand
Trouble can remove,

And pain will cease when lightly fanned
By the breath of love.

And when fond hearts beat,
Together, sorrow must retreat,
Touch'd by music meet
For realms above.

Then hence to the happy land,
Where care is unknown,
And first in a merry band,
I'll make thee mine own;
Haste! haste! fly with me,
For love's banquet waits for thee.
Thine its sweets shall be,
And thine alone.

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HOURS THERE WERE.

HOURS there were, to mem'ry dearer, Than the sun-bright scenes of day: Friends were dearer, joys were nearer, But alas, they've fled away.

Oh! 'twas when the moonlight playing,

O'er the valley's silent grove,
Told the blissful hour for straying,
With my fond, my silent love.

Oft when ev'ning faded mildly,
O'er the wave our bark would rove;
Then we've heard the night-bird wildly,
Breathe his vesper tale of love.
Songs like his, my love would sing

me,

Songs that warble round me yet;
Ah! but where does mem'ry bring

me,
Scenes like those I must forget.

But in dreams let love be near me, With the joys that bloomed before; Slumb'ring then 'twill sweetly cheer

me,

Calm to live my pleasures o'er;

Then perhaps some hope may waken,
In this heart deprest with care,
And like flowers in vale forsaken,
Live a lonely beauty there.

THE CRACOVIAN MAID.

FAREWELL, farewell my peaceful vale,
Where oft in infancy I've rov'd,
And listen'd to the joyous tale,
Of those I dearly lov'd.
The lattice porch with ivy clad,
The rippling stream and flow'ry glade,
In mem'ry now alone must glad,
The poor Cracovian maid,
poor Cracovian maid,

The

The poor Cracovian maid.

Farewell, farewell dear village church, Where oft in prayer I've joined the throng,

And chanted with a cheerful voice,
My gratitude in song.

The setting sun, the vesper bell,
Have faded like a passing shade,
And seems to sound a parting knell:
To the poor Cracovian maid, &c.

PADDY CAREY S FORTUNE, OR, IRISH PROMOTION.

'Twas at the town of nate Clogheen That Sergeant Snap met Paddy Carey,

A claner boy was never seen,
Brisk as a bee, light as a fairy,
His brawny shoulders four feet square,
His cheeks like thumping red pota-
toes,

His legs would make a chairman stare,
And Pat was lov'd by all the ladies.
Old and young, grave or sad,
Deaf and dumb, dull or mad,
Waddling, twaddling, limping, squinting
Light, brisk and airy,

All the sweet faces at Limerick races,
From Mullinavat to Magherafelt,
At Paddy's beautiful name would melt.
And sowls would cry,
And look so shy,

Ogh! Cushlamachree, did you never

see,

The jolly boy, the darling joy, the ladies' toy!

·

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