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The purest hopes her bosom know,
When her young heart was free,—
All these, and more, she now resigus,
To brave the world with thee.

Her lot in life is fixed with thine,
Its good and ill to share;

And well I know 'twill be her pride
To soothe each sorrow there.
Then take her, and may flecting time
Mark only joy's increase;

And may your days glide sweetly on
In happiness and peace.

THE HOLLY! THE HOLLY!
[DOUGLAS JERROLD.]

A traveller have I been from birth,
A traveller must I be;

Yet ne'er saw I the tree on earth
That's like the holly tree.
Beneath the palm I've found relief,
And 'neath the great banyan;
But nothing's like the holly leaf
Unto an Englishman.

The holly-the holly with berries red,

That garlands the snows of old winter's head.

The cedar is a mighty thing,

It form'd the temple's roof;
The oak it is a forest king,

With trunk of tempest proof.
The cocoa cures a thirsty grief,
As well as cup or can;

But nought is like the holly leaf
Unto an Englishman!

The holly, &c.

The laurel pays the poet's deeds;

The laurel soldiers win;

But lattice panes with holly beads
Are red as hearts within.

To make the traveller's sorrows brief,
Take off the pilgrim's ban;

No! nought is like the holly leaf
Unto an Englishman!

The holly, &c.

THE LAKE OF KILLARNEY.

THOMAS DIBDIN.]

[Music by H. PHILLIPS.

Oh! the Lake of Killarney is wide as 'tis deep, Where the frolicsome fishes disportingly play; Where at midnight the moonbeams so silently sleep,

And the sun's golden spangles dance gaily by day; And it's there, dearest Oona, thy lovely face

Made me blind to all other sweet charms of the place.

Oh! the mountains of Erin are lofty and high,

And our bold Giant's Causeway bewitchingly grand; And delighted with joy is the traveller's eye,

While viewing the gems of our dear native land. But let him, dear Oona, behold thy dear face, Ile'll be blind to all other sweet charms of the place.

Oh! the lake's not so deep as the wound in my breast, Nor the mountains so high as the hope of my heart: That only with Oona in life can be blest,

And that only in death with her image will part. For rove where I will, when I think of that face, Och, I'm blind to all other sweet charms of the place.

SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES.
T. H. BAYLY.]
[Music by J. P. KNIGHT.

She wore a wreath of roses
The night when first we met;
Her lovely face was smiling
Beneath the curls of jet;

Her footsteps had the lightness,
Her voice the joyous tone,
The tokens of a youthful heart
Where sorrow is unknown.
I saw her but a moment,

Yet methinks I see her now,
With the wreath of summer flowers
Upon her snowy brow.

-A wreath of orange flowers,

When next we met, she wore; The expression of her features Was more thoughtful than before; And standing by her side was one, Who strove, and not in vain, To soothe her leaving that dear home, She ne'er might view again.

I saw her but a moment,

Yet methinks I see her now,
With the wreath of orange blossoms
Upon her snowy brow.

And once again I see that brow-
No bridal wreath is there-
The widow's sombre cap conceals
Her once luxuriant hair.
She weeps in silent solitude,

And there is no one near

To press her hand within his own,
And wipe away the tear.
I saw her broken hearted,

And methinks I see her now,
In the pride of youth and beauty,
With a wreath upon her brow.

IS MY LOVER ON THE SEA? [BARRY CORNWALL.]

Is my lover on the sea,

Sailing east, or sailing west?

Mighty ocean, gentle be—
Rock him into rest.

Let no angry wind arise,

Nor a wave with whitened crest;
All be gentle as his eyes

When he is caressed.

Bear him, as the breeze above
Bears the bird unto its nest,
Here-unto his home of love,
And there bid him rest.

T. H. BAYLY.]

THE WIDOW.

[Music by G. A. HODSON.

I cannot love another,
I cannot cast aside
The dark weeds of a widow
For white robes of a bride.
I never more may listen

To love's beguiling voice-
The sad heart of a mourner
Can make no second choice.

Oh! offer nought but friendship,
And I will be your friend-
Speak only of the lost one,

And mark how I'll attend!
His portrait hangs above us!

Dare not to breathe love's name;

Those dark eyes, could I listen,
Would frown upon my shame!

And see, my child clings to me,
And looks up in my face-
He has no other parent

To fondle and embrace.

Unconsciously his finger

My wedding ring hath press'd,
As if it were to chide me

For smiling on my guest.

ANONYMOUS.]

BELLA DONNA.

[Music by H. R. ALLEN.

Bella Donna, wouldst thou know
What doth make me love thee so?
'Tis thine eyes, their beams revealing
Th' innocence that dwells within;
Glances from their soft lids stealing,
All to virtues kin!

Eyes, sweet purity's fair throne;
Yet, oh yet, not these alone!
Bella Donna, wouldst thou know,
What doth make me love thee so?
"Tis the placid grace reposing
On thy beauteous lips of coral,
Parted with a smile, disclosing
Two sweet rows of pearl;

Balmy breath and silv'ry tone;
Yet, oh yet, not these alone!

Bella Donna, wouldst thou know
What doth make me love thee so?

"Tis thy breast with faith abounding!

"Tis a charm no tongue can tell!
"Tis a spirit pure surrounding

Thee, with virtue's spell!

'Tis thy heart, proud honour's throne!
Yet, oh yet, not these alone!

Bella Donna, wouldst thou know

What doth make me love thee so?

Were my breast with anguish swelling,
Were sad tears upon my.

cheek,

I would know the spirit's dwelling,

Kind, and true, and meck:

These attributes around thee thrown,
Have bound me thine alone!

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