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O, you 're the flower of womankind, in country
or in town;
The higher I exalt you, the lower I'm cast down. LOVELY MARY DONNELLY.
If some great lord should come this way and see
your beauty bright, O LOVELY Mary Donnelly, it's you I love the And you to be his lady, I'd own it was but right.
best ! If fifty girls were round you, I'd hardly see the O, might we live together in lofty palace hall,
Where joyful music rises, and where scarlet curBe what it may the time of day, the place be tains fall; where it will,
0, might we live together in a cottage mean and Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before small, me still.
With sods of grass the only roof, and mud the
only wall ! Her eyes like mountain water that 's flowing on a rock,
O lovely Mary Donnelly, your beauty's my disHow clear they are ! how dark they are ! and
tress ; they give me many a shock ;
It's far too glorious to be mine, but I'll never Red rowans warm in sunshine, and wetted with
wish it less; a shower,
The proudest place would fit your face, and I am Could ne’er express the charming lip that has
poor and low, me in its power.
But blessings be about you, dear, wherever you
may go ! Her nose is straight and handsome, her eyebrows
THE FAITHFUL LOVERS.
Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth like
a china cup; Her hair 's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and I'd been away from her three years, about that, so fine,
And I returned to find my Mary true ; It's rolling down upon her neck, and gathered And though I'd question her, I did not doubt that in a twine.
It was unnecessary so to do.
- do you?
’T was by the chimney-corner we were sitting : Widow machree, now the summer is come, “Mary,” said I, “have you been always true?”
Och hone! widow machree, “Frankly,” says she, just pausing in her knitting, When everything smiles, should a beauty look "I don't think I've unfaithful been to you :
glum? But for the three years past I 'll tell you what
Och hone! widow machree ! I've done ; then say if I've been true or not.
See the birds go in pairs,
And the rabbits and hares ; “When first you left my grief was uncontrollable; Why, even the bears Alone I mourned my miserable lot;
Now in couples agree ; And all who saw me thought me inconsolable,
And the mute little fish, Till Captain Clifford came from Aldershott.
Though they can't spake, they wish, To flirt with him amused me while 't was new :
Och hone! widow machree! I don't count that unfaithfulness
Widow machree, and when winter comes in, "The next-O! let me see -O! let me see-was Frankie Phipps;
Och hone! widow machree,
Och hone! widow machree !
And the kettle sings songs
Full of family glee ; ** Lord Cecil Fossmore -- only twenty-one –
While alone with your cup Lent me his horse. O, how we rode and raced !
Like a hermit you sup, We scoured the downs- we rode to hounds
Och hone! widow machree! such fun ! And often was his arm about my waist, And how do you know, with the comforts I've That was to lift me up and down. But who
towld, Would call just that unfaithfulness? Would you?
Och hone! widow machree,
But you 're keeping some poor fellow out in the “Do you know Reggy Vere ? Ah, how he sings !
cowld ? Wemet, —-'t was at a picnic. O, such weather!
Och hone! widow machree ! He gave me, look, the first of these two rings
With such sins on your head, When we were lost in Cliefden woods together. Sure your peace would be fled ; Ah, what a happy time we spent, we two !
Could you sleep in your
bed I don't count that unfaithfulness to you.
Without thinking to see
Some ghost or some sprite, “I've yet another ring from him; d' ye see
That would wake you each night, The plain gold circlet that is shining here?”
Crying “Och hone! widow machree !" I took her hand : “O Mary! can it be
That you—"Quoth she, “that I am Mrs. Vere. Then take my advice, darling widow machree, --I don't call that unfaithfulness — do you?'
Och hone! widow machree, “No," I replied, " for I am married too."
And with my advice, faith, I wish you 'd take me,
Och hone! widow machree !
Then to stir up the fire ;
And sure hope is no liar
In whispering to me
That the ghosts would depart
When you 'd me near your heart,
Och hone! widow machree!
THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN.
The laird o' Cockpen he's proud and he's great,
His mind is ta’en up with the things o' the state;
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,
But favor wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.
Her rippling waves of golden hair
In one great coil were tightly twisted ; But locks would break it, here and there,
And curl about where'er they listed.
And then her sleeve came down, and I
Fastened it up --- her hands were doughy; (), it did take the longest time!
Her arın, Ned, was so round and snowy. She blushed, and trembled, and looked shy;
Somehow that made me all the bolder; Her arch lips looked so red that I
Well — found her head upon my shoulder.
A POET loved a Star,
OWEN MEREDITH (LORD LYTTON).
We're to be married, Ned, next month;
Come and attend the wedding revels. I really think that bachelors
Are the most miserable devils ! You'd better go for some girl's hand ;
And if you are uncertain whether You dare to make a due demand,
Why, just try cooking pies together.