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Thus, Mary dear! be thou my own

While brighter eyes unheeded play, I'll love those moonlight looks alone,

Which bless my home, and guide my way!

The day had sunk in dim showers,

But midnight now, with lustre meek, Illumined all the pale flowers, Like hope, that light's a mourner's cheek.

I said (while

The moon's smile
Play'd o'er a stream, in dimpling bliss)

« The moon looks

“ On many brooks; 6. The brook can see no moon but this?:" And thus, I thought, our fortunes run,

For many a lover looks on thee; While, oh! I feel there is but one,

One Mary in the world for me!

2 This image was suggested by the following thought, which occurs somewhere in Sir William Jones's works :“ The moon looks upon many night-flowers:. the nightflower sees but one moon.”




Air-Kitty of Coleraine!; or, Paddy's Resource.

When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow,

And stars in the heavens still lingering shone, Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her

pillow, The last time she e'er was to press it alone;

| Having some reason to suspect that Kitty of Coleraine is but a modern English imitation of our style, I have thought it right to give an authentic Irish air to the same words, without, however, omitting the former melody, for which the words were originally written, and to which, I believe, they are best adapted.

For the youth whom she treasured her heart and

her soul in, Had promised to link the last tie before noon; And, when once the young heart of a maiden is

The maiden herself will steal after it soon!

As she look'd in the glass, which a woman ne'er

misses, Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two, A butterfly, fresh from the night-flower's kisses,

Flew over the mirror, and shaded her view. Enraged with the insect for hiding her graces,

She brush'd him—he fell, alas! never to rise: “Ah! such," said the girl, “is the pride of our faces,

For which the soul's innocence too often dies!"

While she stole through the garden, where hearts

ease was growing, She cull'd some, and kiss'd off its night-fallen

dew; And a rose further on, look'd so tempting and

glowing, That, spite of her haste, she must gather it too: But while o'er the roses too carelessly leaning, Her zone flew in two, and the hearts-ease was

lost: “ Ah! this means," said the girl, and she sigh'd

at its meaning, “ That love is scarce worth the repose it will




AIR—The Fairy Queen.

By the hope within us springing,

Herald of to-morrow's strife
By that sun whose light is bringing

Chains or freedom, death or life-
Oh! remember life can be
No charm for him, who lives not free!

Like the day-star in the wave,
Sinks a hero to his

'Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears!

Blessed is he, o'er whose decline,

The smiles of home may soothing shine, And light him down the steep of years:

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