And you were all I had, Mary,
My blessing and my pride;
There's nothing left to care for now,
Since my poor Mary died!

Your's was the brave good heart, Mary,
That still kept hoping on,

When the trust in God had left my soul,

And my arm's young strength was gone! There was comfort ever on your lip,

And the kind look on your brow; I bless you for the same, Mary, Though you cannot hear me now.

I thank you for that patient smile,
When your heart was like to break,
When the hunger-pain was gnawing there,
And you hid it, for my sake!

I bless you for the pleasant word,
When your heart was sad and sore;
Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,
Where grief can sting no more.

I'm bidding you a long farewell,
My Mary, kind and true,
But I'll not forget you, darling,
In the land I'm going to:

They say there's bread and work for all

And the sun shines always there;

But I'll not forget Old Ireland,
Were it fifty times as fair!

And often in those grand old woods,
I'll sit and shut my eyes,

And my heart will travel back again,

To the place where Mary lies;

And I'll think I see that little stile,

Where we sat side by side,

And the springing corn, and the bright May morn,

When first you were my bride!

IION. MRS. BLACKWOOD.

THE GAMBLER'S WIFE.

DARK is the night! how dark! no light! no fire!
Cold, on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire!
Shivering she watches by the cradle side,

For him who pledged her love-last year a bride!

"Hark! 'tis his footstep! No-—'tis past: 'tis gone :
Tick! Tick!-How wearily the time crawls on!
Why should he leave me thus? He once was kind!
And I believed 'twould last—how mad!

how blind!

"Rest thee, my babe! - Rest on! - 'Tis hunger's cry!

Sleep! for there is no food! the fount is dry!

Famine and cold their wearying work have done,

My heart must break! - And thou!" The clock strikes one.

66

'Hush! 'tis the dice-box! Yes, he's there, he's there,

For this for this he leaves me to despair!

Leaves love! leaves truth! his wife! his child! for what?

The wanton's smile-the villain-ar:d the sot!

"Yet I'll not curse him! No! 'tis all in vain!

'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again!

And I could starve and bless him, but for you,

My child!—his child! - Oh fiend!" The clock strikes two.

Hark! how the sign-board creaks! The blast howls by! Moan! moan! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky! Ha! 'tis his knock! he comes!-he comes once more!

'Tis but the lattice flaps! Thy hope is o'er.

"Can he desert me thus? He knows I stay
Night after night in loneliness to pray
For his return-and yet he sees no tear!
No! no! it cannot be. He will be here.

"Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart!

Thou'rt cold! thou'rt freezing! But we will not part.
Husband!-I die!-Father!-It is not he!

Oh God! protect my child!" The clock strikes three!

They're gone! they're gone! the glimmering spark hath fled,
The wife and child are number'd with the dead!

On the cold hearth, out-stretch'd in solemn rest,
The child lies frozen on its mother's breast!

The gambler came at last-but all was o'er

Dead silence reign'd around-The clock struck four!

THE SLAVE'S DREAM.

BESIDE the ungathered rice he lay,

His sickle in his hand;

His breast was bare, his matted hair✓
Was buried in the sand.

Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,

He saw his Native Land.、

Wide through the landscape of his dreams
The lordly Niger flowed;

Beneath the palm-trees on the plain

Once more a king he strode;

And heard the tinkling caravans

Descend the mountain-road.

COATES.

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen
Among her children stand;

They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, J
They held him by the hand!

A tear burst from the sleeper's lids

And fell into the sand.

And then at furious speed he rode
Along the Niger's bank;

His bridle reigns are golden chains,

And, with a martial clank,

At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel Smiting his stallion's flank.

Before him, like a blood-red flag

The bright flamingoes flew;

From morn till night\he foliowed their flight,

O'er plains where the tamarind grew,

Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,

And the ocean rose to view.

At night he heard the lion roar,

And the hyæna scream,

And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds
Beside some hidden stream:

And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,
Through the triumph of his dream.

The forests, with their myriad tongues,

Shouted of liberty;

And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud,

With a voice so wild and free,

That he started in his sleep and smiled

At their tempestuous glee.

He did not feel the driver's whip,

Nor the burning heat of day;

For Death had illumined the Land of Sleer
And his lifeless body lay