1811-1887.

_A GLEE FOR WINTER._

Hence, rude Winter! crabbed old fellow, Never merry, never mellow!

Well-a-day! in rain and snow What will keep one's heart aglow?

Groups of kinsmen, old and young, Oldest they old friends among!

Groups of friends, so old and true, That they seem our kinsmen too!

These all merry all together, Charm away chill Winter weather!

What will kill this dull old fellow?

Ale that 's bright, and wine that 's mellow!

Dear old songs for ever new; Some true love, and laughter too; Pleasant wit, and harmless fun, And a dance when day is done!

Music--friends so true and tried-- Whispered love by warm fireside-- Mirth at all times all together-- Make sweet May of Winter weather!

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_A KISS._

SAPPHO TO PHAON.

I.

Sweet mouth! O let me take One draught from that delicious cup!

The hot Sahara-thirst to slake That burns me up!

II.

Sweet breath!--all flowers that are, Within that darling frame must bloom; My heart revives so at the rare Divine perfume!

III.

--Nay, 't is a dear deceit, A drunkard's cup that mouth of thine; Sure poison-flowers are breathing, sweet, That fragrance fine!

IV.

I drank--the drink betrayed me Into a madder, fiercer fever; The scent of those love-blossoms made me More faint than ever!

V.

Yet though quick death it were That rich heart-vintage I must drain, And quaff that hidden garden's air, Again--again!

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[Decoration]

LADY DUFFERIN.

1807-1867.

_SONG._[A]

April 30, 1833.

I.

When another's voice thou hearest, With a sad and gentle tone, Let its sound but waken, dearest, Memory of _my_ love alone!

When in stranger lands thou meetest Warm, true hearts, which welcome thee, Let each friendly look thou greetest Seem a message, Love, from _me_!

II.

When night's quiet sky is o'er thee, When the pale stars dimly burn, Dream that _one_ is watching for thee, Who but lives for thy return!

Wheresoe'er thy steps are roving, Night or day, by land or sea, Think of her, whose life of loving Is but one long thought of thee!

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[Footnote A: These lines were written to the author's husband, then at sea, in 1833, and set to music by herself.]

_LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT._

I 'm sitting on the stile, Mary, Where we sat, side by side, That bright May morning long ago When first you were my bride.

The corn was springing fresh and green, The lark sang loud and high, The red was on your lip, Mary, 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, The corn is green again; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, Your breath warm on my cheek, And I still keep list'ning for the words You never more may speak.

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'T is but a step down yonder lane, The little Church stands near-- The Church where we were wed, Mary,-- I see the spire from here; But the graveyard lies between, Mary,-- My step might break your rest,-- Where you, my darling, lie asleep With your baby on your breast.

I 'm very lonely now, Mary,-- 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 blessing and my pride; There 's nothing left to care for now Since my poor Mary died.

Yours was the good brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on, When trust in G.o.d had left my soul, And half my 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 can't hear me now.

I thank you for the patient smile When your heart was fit to break; When the hunger pain was gnawing there 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 bidding you a long farewell, My Mary--kind and true!

But I 'll not forget you, darling, In the land I 'm going 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.