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Then fly with me,-if thou hast known
No other flame, nor falsely thrown
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn;

Come, if the love thou hast for me,
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee-
Fresh as the fountain under ground,
When first 't is by the lapwing found.

But if for me thou dost forsake
Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshipped image from its base,
To give to me the ruined place-

Then, fare thee well; I'd rather make
My bower upon some icy lake
When thawing suns begin to shine,
Than trust to love so false as thine!

THOMAS MOORE.

LOVELY MARY DONNELLY.

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

If fifty girls were around you, I'd hardly see the rest;

The dance o' last Whit Monday night exceed ed all before

No pretty girl for miles around was missing from the floor;

But Mary kept the belt of love, and O! 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.

O, you 're the flower of womankind, in country

or in town;

The higher I exalt you the lower I'm cast down. Be what it may the time of day, the place be If some great Lord should come this way and where it will, Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom And you to be his lady, I'd own it was but

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see your beauty bright,

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sues,

WERE I BUT HIS OWN WIFE.

So she could n't but choose to-go off to WERE I but his own wife, to guard and to

the dancing.

And now on the green the glad groups are

seen

Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his choosing;

And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet Kitty Neil

guide him,

'Tis little of sorrow should fall on my

dear;

I'd chant my low love verses, stealing beside him,

So faint and so tender his heart would but hear;

Somehow, when he asked, she ne'er thought I'd pull the wild blossoms from valley and

of refusing.

Now Felix Magee puts his pipes to his knee,

And, with flourish so free, sets each couple in motion;

With a cheer and a bound, the lads patter

the ground

highland;

And there at his feet I would lay them all

down;

I'd sing him the songs of our poor stricken

island,

Till his heart was on fire with a love like my own.

The maids move around just like swans on There's a rose by his dwelling—I'd tend the

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'Tis little of sorrow should fall on my COME in the evening, or come in the morning

dear;

For every kind glance my whole life would award him

In sickness I'd soothe and in sadness I'd cheer.

My heart is a fount welling upward for

ever

When I think of my true love, by night or by day,

That heart keeps its faith like a fast-flowing river

Which gushes for ever and sings on its

way.

I have thoughts full of peace for his soul to

repose in,

Come when you 're looked for, or come with

out warning;

Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,

And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you!

Light is my heart since the day we were plighted;

Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted;

The green of the trees looks far greener than ever,

And the linnets are singing, "true lovers don't sever!"

II.

Were I but his own wife, to win and to I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you

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choose them!

Or, after you've kissed them, they 'll lie on my bosom;

I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to in

spire you;

I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you.

O! your step 's like the rain to the summer

vexed farmer,

Or sabre and shield to a knight without

armor;

I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me,

Then, wandering, I'll wish you, in silence, to love me.

III.

We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie;

We'll tread round the rath on the track of

the fairy;

We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the

river,

Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her

O she'll whisper you-"Love, as un

changeably beaming,

And trust, when in secret, most tunefully

streaming;

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