Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!

Chosen leaf

Of Bard and Chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock!

Says Valour, “ See,

They spring for me,

Those leafy gems of morning!"-

Says Love, "No, no,

For me they grow,

My fragrant path adorning."

But Wit perceives

The triple leaves,

And cries, "Oh! do not sever

A type, that blends

Three godlike friends,

Love, Valour, Wit, for ever!"

Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!

Chosen leaf

Of Bard and Chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock!

So firmly fond

May last the bond

They wove that morn together,

And ne'er may fall

One drop of gall

On Wit's celestial feather.

May Love, as twine

His flowers divine,

Of thorny falsehood weed 'em ;

May Valour ne'er

His standard rear

Against the cause of Freedom!

Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock !

Chosen leaf

Of Bard and Chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock!

OH! HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE OF OUR OWN.

H! had we some bright little isle of our own,
In a blue summer ocean, far off and alone,
Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers,
And the bee banquets on through a whole year of

flowers;

Where the sun loves to pause

With so fond a delay,
That the night only draws
A thin veil o'er the day;

Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live,
Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give.

There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime,
We should love, as they loved in the first golden time;
The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air,
Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer there.

With affection as free

From decline as the bowers,

And, with hope, like the bee,
Living always on flowers,

Our life should resemble a long day of light,
And our death come on, holy and calm as the night.

OH DOUBT ME NOT.

H! doubt me not the season

Is o'er, when Folly made me rove,

And now the vestal, Reason,

Shall watch the fire awaked by Love.

Although this heart was early blown,
And fairest hands disturb'd the tree,
They only shook some blossoms down,
Its fruit has all been kept for thee.
Then doubt me not the season

Is o'er, when Folly made me rove,

And now the vestal, Reason,

Shall watch the fire awaked by Love.

And though my lute no longer

May sing of Passion's ardent spell,

Yet, trust me, all the stronger

I feel the bliss I do not tell.
The bee through many a garden roves,
And hums his lay of courtship o'er,
But when he finds the flower he loves,
He settles there and hums no more.
Then doubt me not the season
Is o'er, when Folly kept me free,
And now the vestal, Reason,

Shall guard the flame awaked by thee.

YOU REMEMBER ELLEN.

OU remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride,

How meekly she blessed her humble lot, When the stranger, William, had made her his

bride,

And love was the light of their lowly cot.

Together they toil'd through winds and rains,
Till William, at length, in sadness said,
"We must seek our fortune on other plains;
Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed.

They roam'd a long and a weary way,
Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease,
When now, at close of one stormy day,
They see a proud castle among the trees.
"To-night," said the youth, "we'll shelter there;
The wind blows cold, the hour is late:"
So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air,
And the Porter bow'd, as they pass'd the gate.

"Now, welcome, Lady," exclaim'd the youth,-
"This castle is thine, and these dark woods all!"
She believed him crazed, but his words were truth,
For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall !
And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves
What William, the stranger, woo'd and wed;

And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves,
Shines pure as it did in the lowly shed.

S a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow
While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below,
So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile,
Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.