136

AN IRISH GRACE.

Blue are her eyes, as though the skies

Were ever blue above them,
And dark their full-fringed canopies,

As if the night-fays wove them.

Two roses kiss to mould her mouth,
Her ear's a lily blossom,

Her blush a sunset in the south,

And drifted snow her bosom.

Her voice is gay, but soft and low,

The sweetest of all trebles,

A silver brook, that in its flow,

Chimes over pearly pebbles.

A happy heart, a temper bright,
Her radiant smile expresses;
And, like a wealth of golden light,

Rain down her sunny tresses.

AN IRISH GRACE.

137

Earth's desert clime,

Whose sands are Time,

Will prove a glad oasis,

If 'tis my fate,

My friends, to mate

With such a girl as Grace is.

A BIRTHDAY IN JUNE.

ETHEL GREY.

HEN the summer sunshine gleams,

And the warm world smiles and dreams
All around;

When the starry roses throw

Wealth of petals' scented snow

On the ground;

When amid sweet sounds and sights,

Full of exquisite delights,

Fly the hours;

Comes thy birthday-rightly, dear,

For it made thee thus appear

With the flowers.

A BIRTHDAY IN JUNE.

139

Greeting to my fair pale rose

In these verses I enclose,

Short and sweet;

And I lay my love so true

(Though she knows that's nothing new) At her feet.

And I pen these lines to-day,
Hoping she will sweetly say,

Reading this:

"If the writer were but here,

I would pay them all too dear,

With a kiss!"