For 'tis thinking of you

I am, Molly Carew,

While you wear, on purpose, a bonnet so deep
That I can't at your sweet pretty face get a peep.

Oh, lave off that bonnet,

Or else I'll lave on it

The loss of my wandering sowl!

Och hone! weirasthru !

Och hone! like an owl,

Day is night, dear, to me without you!

Och hone! don't provoke me to do it;

For there's girls by the score

That loves me—and more;

And you'd look very quare if some morning you'd meet My wedding all marching in pride down the street; Troth, you'd open your eyes,

And you'd die with surprise

To think 'twasn't you was come to it!

And faith, Katty Naile,

And her cow, I go bail,

Would jump if I'd say,

"Katty Naile, name the day";

And though you're fair and fresh as a morning in May, While she's short and dark like a cold winter's day,. Yet if you don't repent

Before Easter, when Lent

Is over, I'll marry for spite,

Och hone! weirasthru !

And when I die for you,

My ghost will haunt you every night.

O

LOVELY MARY DONNELLY.

BY WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

LOVELY Mary Donnelly, it's you I love the best!

If fifty girls were round you, I'd hardly see the rest; Be what it may the time of day, the place be where it will, Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before me still.

Her eyes like mountain water that's flowing on a rock,

How clear they are, how dark they are! and they give me many

a shock;

Red rowans warm in sunshine, and wetted with a shower,

Could ne'er express the charming lip that has me in its power.

Her nose is straight and handsome, her eyebrows lifted up,
Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth like a china cup;
Her hair's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and so fine-
It's rolling down upon her neck, and gathered in a twine.

The dance o' last Whit-Monday night exceeded all before-
No pretty girl for miles around was missing from the floor;
But Mary kept the belt of love, and oh! but she was gay;
She danced a jig, she sung a song, and took my heart away!

When she stood up for dancing, her steps were so complete,
The music nearly killed itself, to listen to her feet;

The fiddler mourned his blindness, he heard her so much praised;
But blessed himself he wasn't deaf when once her voice she raised.

And evermore I'm whistling or lilting what you sung;
Your smile is always in my heart, your name beside my tongue.
But you've as many sweethearts as you'd count on both your hands,
And for myself there's not a thumb or little finger stands.

Oh, you're the flower of womankind, in country or in town;

The higher I exalt you, the lower I'm cast down.

If some great lord should come this way and see your beauty bright, And you to be his lady, I'd own it was but right.

Oh, might we live together in lofty palace hall,

Where joyful music rises, and where scarlet curtains fall;
Oh, might we live together in a cottage mean and small,
With sods of grass the only roof, and mud the only wall!

O lovely Mary Donnelly, your beauty's my distress

It's far too beauteous to be mine, but I'll never wish it less;
The proudest place would fit your face, and I am poor and low,
But blessings be about you, dear, wherever you may go !

Ο

OH! WERE MY LOVE.

BY WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

H! were my love a country lass,

That I might see her every day;
And sit with her on hedgerow grass
Beneath a bough of may;

And find her cattle when astray,

Or help to drive them to the field,
And linger on our homeward way,
And woo her lips to yield

A twilight kiss before we parted,
Full of love, yet easy-hearted!

Oh! were my love a cottage maid,

To spin through many a winter night,

Where ingle-corner lends its shade

From fir-wood blazing bright!

Beside her wheel what dear delight

To watch the blushes go and come
With tender words, that took no fright
Beneath the friendly hum;

Or rising smile, or tear-drop swelling,
At a fireside legend's telling!

Oh! were my love a peasant girl,

That never saw the wicked town;

Was never dight with silk or pearl,

But graced a homely gown!

How less than weak were fashion's frown
To vex our unambitious lot;

How rich were love and peace to crown
Our green secluded cot;

Where Age would come serene and shining,
Like an autumn day's declining!