The hypocrite haters

Of Goodness and Truth,
Who at heart curse the race

Of the sun through the skies;
And would look in God's face
With a lie in their eyes!

To the last do your duty,

Still mindful of this —
That Virtue is Beauty,
And Wisdom, and Bliss.

LOVE BALLAD.

LONELY from my home I come,
To cast myself upon your tomb,
And to weep.

Lonely from my lonesome home,

My lonesome house of grief and gloom, While I keep

Vigil often all night long,

For your dear, dear sake,

Praying many a prayer so wrong

That my heart would break!

Gladly, O my blighted flower,

Sweet Apple of my bosom's Tree,
Would I now

Stretch me in your dark death-bower
Beside your corpse, and lovingly
Kiss your brow.

But we'll meet ere many a day

Never more to part,

For ev'n now I feel the clay

Gathering round my heart.

In

my

soul doth darkness dwell,

And through its dreary winding caves
Ever flows,

Ever flows with moaning swell,

One ebbless flood of many Waves,
Which are Woes,

Death, love, has me in his lures,
But that grieves not me,

So my ghost may meet with yours
On yon moon-loved lea.

When the neighbors near my cot
Believe me sunk in slumber deep
I arise

For, oh! 't is a weary lot

This watching eye, and wooing sleep
With hot eyes —

I arise, and seek your grave,

And pour forth my tears;
While the winds that nightly rave,
Whistle in mine ears.

Often turns my memory back

To that dear evening in the dell,
When we twain,

Sheltered by the sloe-bush black,

Sat, laughed, and talked, while thick sleet fell, And cold rain.

Thanks to God! no guilty leaven

Dashed our childish mirth.

You rejoice for this in Heaven,
I not less on earth!

Love! the priests feel wroth with me

To find I shrine your image still

Since you are gone eternally,

And your fair frame lies in the chill
Grave at rest;

But true Love outlives the shroud,
Knows nor check nor change,
And beyond Time's world of Cloud
Still must reign and range.

Well may now your kindred mourn
The threats, the wiles, the cruel arts,
They long tried

On the child they left forlorn!

They broke the tenderest heart of hearts, And she died.

Curse upon the love of show!

Curse on Pride and Greed!

They would wed you 'high'—and woe!

Here behold their meed!

LADY DUFFERIN.

LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT.

I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary,

Where we sat side by side

On a bright May mornin' long ago,
When first you were my bride;
The corn was springin' fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud and high
And the red was on your lip, Mary,
And the love-light in your eye.

The place is little changed, Mary,
The day is bright as then,
The lark's loud song is in my ear,
And the corn is green again;
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
And your breath, warm on my cheek,
And I still keep list'nin' for the words
You never more will speak,

'Tis but a step down yonder lane,
And the little church stands near,
The church where we were wed, Mary,
I see the spire from here.

But the grave-yard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your restFor I've laid you, darling! down to sleep With your baby on your breast.

I'm very lonely now, Mary,

For the poor make no new friends,
But, oh! they love the better still,
The few our Father sends !
And you were all I had, Mary,
My blessin' and my pride:
There's nothing left to care for now,

Since my poor Mary died.

Your's was the good, brave 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, Mary, for that same, Though you cannot hear me now.

I thank you for the patient smile heart was fit to break,

When your

When the hunger pain was gnawin' 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't reach you more!

I'm biddin' you a long farewell,

My Mary-kind and true! But I'll not forget you, darling! In the land I'm goin' 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!