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Oh, Gilderoy! bethought we then

So soon, so sad, to part,

When first in Roslin's lovely glen

You triumph'd o'er my heart?

Your locks they glitter'd to the sheen,

Your hunter garb was trim;

And graceful was the ribbon green

That bound your manly limb !

Ah! little thought I to deplore

These limbs in fetters bound;

Or hear, upon the scaffold floor,

The midnight hammer sound.

Ye cruel, cruel, that combined

The guiltless to pursue ;

My Gilderoy was ever kind,

He could not injure you !

A long adieu ! but where shall fly

Thy widow all forlorn,

When every mean and cruel eye

Regards my woe with scorn ?

Yes! they will mock thy widow's tears,

And hate thine orphan boy;

Alas ! his infant beauty wears

The form of Gilderoy!

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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,

Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face;

But he died at my feet on a cold winter day,

And I play'd a sad lament for my poor dog Tray.

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