Song. The evening air past by my cheek, Fast silent tears were flowing, I knew its touch was kind; But the beating of our own hearts 17 MONCKTON MILNES. THE VIOLET. A LOVELY flower, in secret bower, For blessing made, without parade, C BISHOP HORNE. THE WELCOME. OME in the evening, or come in the morning, warning, Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you. I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them; Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom. I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you; I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that wont tire you. Oh! your step's like the rain to the summer-vex'd farmer, Or sabre and shield to a knight without armour; The Welcome. 19 We'll look through the trees at the cliff, and the eyrie, beaming, And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming, So come in the evening, or come in the morning, THOMAS DAVIS. A LYRIC. SHE is not fair to outward view, Until she smiled on me. Oh, then I saw her eye was bright, But now her looks are coy and cold- The love-light in her eye: Than smiles of other maidens are. HARTLEY COLERIDGE. THE PRIMROSE. WHEN time's dark winter shall be o'er, But not like me to fade. BISHOP HORNE. R THE HUSBAND'S SONG. AINY and rough sets the day,- Somebody's anxious for somebody. There'll be a comforting fire, There'll be a welcome for somebody; One, in her neatest attire, Will look to the table for somebody. Though the stars fled from the west, There is a star yet for somebody, Lighting the home he loves best, Warming the bosom of somebody. |