LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT

(DUFERIN.)

I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side,

On a bright May morning, long ago,
When first you were my bride;
The corn was springing fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud and high;
And the red was on your lip, Mary,
And the love-light in your eye.

The place is little changed, Mary,
The day as bright as then,
The lark's loud song is in my ear,
And the corn is green again;
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
And your breath warm on my cheek;
And I still keep listening for the words
You never more will speak.

"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;
But, O! they love the better still
The few our Father sends!

And you were all I had, Mary—
My blessing and my pride:
There's nothing left to care for now,
Since my poor Mary died.

Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary,
That still kept hoping on,

When the trust in God had left my soul,
And my arm's young strength was gone;
There was comfort ever on your lip,
And the kind look on your brow-
I bless you, Mary, for that same,
Though you cannot hear me now.

I thank you for the patient smile
When your heart was fit to break-
When the hunger pain was gnawing there,
And you hid it for my sake;

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,
My Mary-kind and true!
But I'll not forget you, darling,
In the land I'm going to;

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
I'll sit, and shut my eyes,
And my heart will travel back again
To the place where Mary lies;
And I'll think I see the little stile

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.
(G. W. PATTEN.)

Blaze, with your serried columns!
I will not bend the knee!
The shackles ne'er again shall bind
The arm which now is free.
I've mailed it with the thunder,
When the tempest muttered low;
And where it falls, ye well may dread
The lightning of its blow!

I've scared ye in the city,

I've scalped ye on the plain;

Go, count your chosen, where they fell
Beneath my leaden rain!

I scorn your proffered treaty!
The pale-face I defy!

Revenge is stamped upon my spear,
And blood my battle-cry!

Some strike for hope of booty,
Some to defend their all,-
I battle for the joy I have
To see the white man fall:
I love, among the wounded,
To hear his dying moan,

And catch, while chanting at his side,
The music of his groan.

Ye've trailed me through the forest,
Ye've tracked me o'er the stream;
And struggling through the everglade,
Your bristling bayonets gleam;
But I stand as should the warrior,
With his rifle and his spear;
The scalp of vengeance still is red,
And warns ye-Come not here!

I loathe ye in my bosom,

I scorn ye with mine eye,

And I'll taunt ye with my latest breath,
And fight ye till I die!

I ne'er will ask ye quarter,

And I ne'er will be your slave;
But I'll swim the sea of slaughter,
Till I sink beneath its wave!

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 bed on the floor, a bit of rosin,

A fire to thaw our thumbs, (poor fellow!
The paw he holds up there's been frozen,)
Plenty of catgut for my fiddle,

(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.
He's thirsty, too,-see him nod his head?
What a pity, Sir, that dogs can't talk!
He understands every word that's said,-

And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk.

The truth is, Sir, now I reflect,

I've been so sadly given to grog,
I wonder I've not lost the respect

(Here's to you, Sir!) even of my dog.
But he sticks by, through thick and thin;
And this old coat, with its empty pockets,
And rags that smell of tobacco and gin,

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!
No, sir!-see him wag his tail and grin!
By George! it makes my old eyes water!
That is, there's something in this gin

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,
When he stands up to hear his sentence.
Now tell us how many drams it takes

To honor a jolly new acquaintance.

Five yelps, that's five; he's mighty knowing!
The night's before us, fill the glasses!-
Quick, Sir! I'm ill,-my brain is going!

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,