LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT (DUFERIN.) I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, On a bright May morning, long ago, The place is little changed, Mary, "Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands nearThe church where we were wed, Mary; I see the spire from here. But the graveyard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest— For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast. I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends; And you were all I had, Mary— Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, When the trust in God had left my soul, I thank you for the patient smile I bless you for the pleasant word, When your heart was sad and sore— O! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, Where grief can't reach you more! I'm bidding you a long farewell, They say there's bread and work for all, And the sun shines always thereBut I'll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair! And often in those grand old woods Where we sat side by side, And the springing corn, and the bright May morn, When first you were my bride. THE SEMINOLE'S DEFIANCE. Blaze, with your serried columns! I've scared ye in the city, I've scalped ye on the plain; Go, count your chosen, where they fell I scorn your proffered treaty! Revenge is stamped upon my spear, Some strike for hope of booty, And catch, while chanting at his side, Ye've trailed me through the forest, I loathe ye in my bosom, I scorn ye with mine eye, And I'll taunt ye with my latest breath, I ne'er will ask ye quarter, And I ne'er will be your slave; THE VAGABONDS. (J. T. TROWBRIDGE.) We are two travellers, Roger and I. Roger's my dog:-come here, you scamp! Jump for the gentlemen,-mind your eye! Over the table,-look out for the lamp!The rogue is growing a little old; Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, And slept out-doors when nights were cold, And ate and drank-and starved together. We've learned what comfort is, I tell you! A fire to thaw our thumbs, (poor fellow! (This out-door business is bad for strings,) Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, And Roger and I set up for kings! No, thank ye, Sir,-I never drink; Roger and I are exceedingly moral.— Aren't we, Roger?-see him wink!— Well, something hot, then, we won't quarrel. And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. The truth is, Sir, now I reflect, I've been so sadly given to grog, (Here's to you, Sir!) even of my dog. He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. There isn't another creature living Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, To such a miserable thankless master! That chokes a fellow. But, no matter. We'll have some music, if you're willing, And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, Sir!) Shall march a little.-Start, you villain! Stand straight! 'Bout face! Salute your officer! Put up that paw! Dress! Take your rifle ! (Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, To aid a poor old patriot soldier! March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes, To honor a jolly new acquaintance. Five yelps, that's five; he's mighty knowing! Some brandy, thank you,-there!-it passes! Why not reform? That's easily said; But I've gone through such wretched treatment, Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, And scarce remembering what meat meant, |