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But other men our land will till,
And others then our streets will fill,
And other words will sing as gay,
And bright the sunshine as to-day,

A hundred years to come.
o

THE JVELCOME.
THOMAS DAVIS.

Come in the evening, or come in the morning;
Come when you’re looked for, or come without
warning;
Kisses and welcome you’ll find here before you,
And the oftener you come here, the more I'll
adore you!
Light is my heart since the day we were plighted;
Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted;
The green of the trees looks far greener than ever,
And the linnets are singing, “True lovers don't
Sever!”

I’ll pull you sweet flowers to wear if you choose

them, Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my

bosom; I’ll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire

you;

I’ll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you.

Oh! yopr step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer,

Or sabre and shield to a knight without armor;

I’ll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above Ime,

Then, wandering, I’ll wish you in silence to love Isle.

We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie; We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy; We’ll look on the stars and we’ll list to the river, Till you ask of your darling what gift you can

give her. Oh! she'll whisper you, -“Love as unchangeably beaming, And trust, when in secret most tunefully streamIng

Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver, As our souls flow in one down eternity's river.”

So come in the evening, or come in the morning; Come when you’re looked for, or come without warning;

Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,

And the oftener you come, the more I'll adore you!

Light is my heart since the day we were plighted;

Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted;

The green of the trees looks far greener than ever,

And the linnets are singing, “True lovers don't Sever!”

IRISH LOVE-SONG.

RATHARINE TYNAN.

Would God I were that tender apple-blossom,
Floating and falling from the twisted bough,

To lie and faint within your silken bosom,
As that does now!

Or would I were a little burnished apple
For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold,
While sun and shade your robe of lawn will
dapple,
Your hair's spun gold.

Yea, would to God I were among the roses
That lean to kiss you as you float between!

While on the lowest branch a bud unclosea
To touch you, Queen!

Nay, since you will not love, would I were grow-
Ing
A happy daisy in the garden-path;
That so your silver foot might press me going,
Even unto death!

WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST? SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Where shall the lover rest
Whom the fates sever
From his true maiden's breast
Parted forever?
Where, through groves deep and high
Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die
Under the willow.

Eleu loro
Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through the summer day
Cool streams are laving:

There, while the tempests sway,
Scarce are boughs waving;

There thy rest shalt thou take,
Parted forever,
Never again to wake
Never, O never!
Eleu loro
Never, O never! .

Where shall the traitor rest,
He, the deceiver,
Who could win maiden's breast,
Ruin, and leave her?
In the lost battle,
Borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war's rattle
With groans of the dying;
Eleu loro
There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap
O'er the false-hearted;
His warm blood the wolf shall lap
Ere life be parted:
Shame and dishonor sit
By his grave ever;
Blessing shall hallow it
Never, O never!
Eleu loro
Never, O never!

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