THE HARPER.

On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was

nigh,

No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I;

No harp like my own could so cheerily play,
And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.

When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, She said, (while the sorrow was big at her heart,) Oh! remember your Sheelah when far, far away; And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray.

Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, And he constantly loved me, although I was poor; When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away, I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.

When the road was so dark, and the night was so

cold,

And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old,

How snugly we slept in my old coat of grey,

And he lick'd me for kindness

- my poor dog Tray.

Though my wallet was scant, I remember'd his case, my last crust to his pitiful face;

Nor refused

But he died at my feet on a cold winter day,
And I play'd a sad lament for my poor dog Tray.

Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? Can I find one to guide me, so faithful, and kind? To my sweet native village, so far, far away,

I can never more return with my poor dog Tray.

SONG.

TO THE EVENING STAR.

STAR that bringest home the bee,

And sett'st the weary labourer free!

If any star shed peace, 'tis thou,

That send'st it from above,

Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow

Are sweet as her's we love.

Come to the luxuriant skies,

Whilst the landscape's odours rise,

Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard,

And songs, when toil is done,

From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd

Curls yellow in the sun.

Star of love's soft interviews,

Parted lovers on thee muse;

Their remembrancer in Heaven

Of thrilling vows thou art,

Too delicious to be riven

By absence from the heart.