MY CONNOR.

BY J. FRAZER.

His eye is as black as the sloe,

And his skin is as white as its blossom-
He loves me; but hate to the foe

Has the innermost place in his bosom ;
I forgive him, for sorrow unmixed,
His child, like himself, should inherit,
If hatred to chains had not fixed

The strong kernel-stone in his spirit.

The lark never soars but to sing—
Nor sings but to soar; but my

Surpasses the lark on the wing,

Connor

Tho' walking the earth without honour! The fetters-the fetters awake

Deep passionate songs that betoken The part and the place he will take, When bonds are held up to be broken.

He loves me more dearly than life,

Yet would he forsake me to-morrow, And lose both his blood and his wife, To free his loved island from sorrow; And could I survive but to see

The land without shackle upon her,

I freely a widow would be,

Tho' dearly I doat on my Connor.

There is hope for the land where the ties

'Twixt husband and wife have been reckoned

As virtue the first, in strange eyes,

Yet are, in their own, but the second!
The sun never shines from the sky,
If the country be long in dishonour-
With women-all braver than I-

And men-all as brave as my Connor.

PAST PLEASURE.

BY W. KENNEDY.

REMEMBEREST thou the evening we met in the shady glen? 'Twas the only time we ever were there, or ever shall be again. Thy eye and cheek so beautiful, a glorious lustre wore;

And deeper and quicker my young heart beat, than ever it beat before.

The Sun went down unheeded to his chamber in the West;

We lived in the light of each other's looks and we felt that both were blest.

The far-off voice of the water-fall, and the bird's song warbled nigh,

Were drowned in the passionate tones that gushed from our bosoms swelling high.

Years have rolled by since we parted, years many a weary one; And I sigh for rest, as the seaman sighs for land, ere his course

is run.

No heart is there now to love me, or be beloved by me;

Not one to stir the spirit that watched in the glen's lone haunts, with thee.

I'll never forget that evening! No-though the thought be vainI would still be thine, all lost as thou art, could I feel what I felt

again.

Sorrow and shame have followed it; yet, like a desolate star, That floats in the wake of a thunder-cloud, its memory shines afar!

THE GIRL OF DUNBWY.

BY THOMAS DAVIS, M.R.I.A.

'TIS pretty to see the girl of Dunbwy
Stepping the mountain statelily—

Though ragged her gown, and naked her feet,
No lady in Ireland to match her is meet.

Poor is her diet, and hardly she lies

Yet a monarch might kneel for a glance of her eyes;
The child of a peasant-yet England's proud Queen
Has less rank in her heart, and less grace in her mien.

Her brow 'neath her raven hair gleams, just as if
A breaker spread white 'neath a shadowy cliff,
And love, and devotion, and energy speak

From her beauty-proud eye, and her passion-pale cheek.

But pale as her cheek is, there's fruit on her lip,
And her teeth flash as white as the crescent moon's tip,
And her form and her step, like the red-deer's go past—
As lightsome, as lovely, as haughty, as fast.

eye,

I saw her but once, and I looked in her
And she knew that I worshipped in passing her by;
The saint of the wayside--she granted my prayer,
Though we spoke not a word, for her mother was there.

I never can think upon Bantry's bright hills,
But her image starts up, and my longing eye fills;
And I whisper her softly, "again, love, we'll meet,
And I'll lie in your bosom, and live at your feet."

LOVE'S GREETING.

BY EVA. (MISS MARY EVA KELLY.)

WELCOME again, as the May's scented blossom,
Welcome again to your home in this bosom.
Oh! for the sweet blessed hour that has brought you
Back to the arms that so long, long have sought you.
Welcome, oh! welcome, with wild-ringing laughter,
Tears than the evening-dew sweeter and softer,
Music and light in my soul's depth o'erflowing,
Pulses that throb-colour coming and going-

Whispers that none but my lov'd one shall listen,
Glances where every fond secret shall glisten,
Clasping of hands that have long been asunder,
Hearts brimming over with rapture and wonder:

Thoughts like the green leaves so joyously dancing,
When warm sun and sweet winds around them are glancing,
Joy for me!-joy! for you never will leave me,

And now there is nought on the wide earth to grieve me.

Glad as the bird up the summer vault singing—
Light as the bough with its gay blossoms springing-
Bright as the gold-sparks that glisten and quiver
At morning or eve, on the breast of the river:
Calm as the child in its soft slumber lying-
Blest as the saint to his home above flying,
Fill'd with a love ever thrilling and burning-
So am I now at my darling's returning!

KATE OF ARRAGLEN.

BY DENNY LANE.

WHEN first I saw thee, Kate,
That summer ev'ning late,
Down at the orchard gate
Of Arraglen,

I felt I'd ne'er before

Seen one so fair, asthore,
I fear'd I'd never more
See thee again-

I stopped and gazed at thee,

My footfall luckily

Reach'd not thy ear, though we

Stood there so near;

While from thy lips a strain,

Soft as the summer rain,

Sad as a lover's pain

Fell on my ear.

I've heard the lark in June,
The harp's wild plaintive tune,
The thrush, that aye too soon
Gives o'er his strain-

I've heard in hush'd delight
The mellow horn at night,
Waking the echoes light

Of wild Loch Lene;

But neither echoing horn,
Nor thrush upon the thorn,
Nor lark at early morn,

Hymning in air,

Nor harper's lay divine,

E'er witch'd this heart of mine, Like that sweet voice of thine, That ev'ning there.

And when some rustling, dear,
Fell on thy listening ear,
You thought your brother near,
And named his name,

I could not answer, though,
As luck would have it so,
His name and mine, you know,
Were both the same-

Hearing no answering sound,
You glanced in doubt around,
With timid look, and found
It was not he;

Turning away your head,
And blushing rosy red,
Like a wild fawn you fled
Far, far from me.

The swan upon the lake,
The wild rose in the brake,
The golden clouds that make
The west their throne,

The wild ash by the stream,
The full moon's silver beam,
The ev'ning star's soft gleam,
Shining alone;

The lily rob'd in white,
All, all are fair and bright;
But ne'er on earth was sight
So bright, so fair,

As that one glimpse of thee,
That I caught then, machree,
It stole my heart from me

That ev'ning there.