THE SILVERY LEE.-Continued.

The Tagus, with its golden sand,
The Tiber, full of ancient glory,
The Danube, though a river grand,
The Seine and Elbe, renowned in story,
Can never be so dear to me

As the pure and silvery Lee.

'Tis not the voice that tongues the stream,
In winter hoarse, in spring-time clearer,—
That makes my own sweet river seem
Above all other rivers dearer;

But 'tis her voice, who whispers me,-
"How lovely is the silvery Lee!”

THE TWISTING OF THE ROPE.

Translated from the Irish, by E. WALSH.

WHAT mortal conflict drove me here to roam,
Though many a maid I've left behind at home;
Forth from the house where dwelt my heart's dear hope,
I was turned by the hag at the twisting of the rope!

If thou be mine, be mine both day and night,
If thou be mine, be mine in all men's sight,
If thou be mine, be mine o'er all beside
And oh, that thou wert now my wedded bride!

In Sligo first I did my love behold,
In Galway town I spent with her my gold-
But by this hand, if thus they me pursue,
I'll teach these dames to dance a measure new!

GRACE NUGENT.

BY CAROLAN.

Translated by SAMUEL FERGUSON.

BRIGHTEST blossom of the spring,
Grace, the sprightly girl, I sing;
Grace who bore the palm of mind
From all the rest of womankind;
Whomsoe'er the fates decree,
Happy fate for life to be,

Day and night my Coolun* near,
Ache or pain need never fear.

Her neck outdoes the stately swan,
Her radiant face the summer dawn;
Ah, happy thrice the youth for whom
The fates design that branch of bloom!
Pleasant are your words benign,
Rich those azure eyes of thine;
Ye who see my queen, beware
Those twisted links of golden hair!

This is what I fain would say
To the bird-voiced lady gay +-
Never yet conceived the heart
Joy that Grace cannot impart :
Fold of jewels, case of pearls!
Coolun of the circling curls!
More I say not, but no less

Drink your health and happiness.

* Coolun means a fine head of hair, and the term is often used as one of endearment.

†This "bird-voice lady" (how sweet the epithet!) was a fair daughter of the Nugent of Castle Nugent, Columbre.

BY CHARLES LEVER.

AIR-" Thady ye Gander."

You may talk, if you please,
Of the brown Portuguese,

But, wherever you roam, wherever you roam,
You nothing will meet

Half so lovely or sweet

As the girls at home, the girls at home.
Their eyes are not sloes,

Nor so long is their nose,

But between me and you, between me and you, They are just as alarming,

And ten times more charming,

With hazel and blue, with hazel and blue.

THE GIRLS OF THE WEST.-Continued.

They don't ogle a man
O'er the top of their fan

Till his heart's in a flame, his heart's in a flame,
But though bashful and shy,

They've a look in their eye

That just comes to the same, just comes to the same,
No mantillas they sport,

But a petticoat short

Shows an ankle the best, an ankle the best,
And a leg; but, Ó murther!

I dare not go further,

So here's to the West, so here's to the West.

WHEN MY OLD HAT WAS NEW.

BY THOMAS MOORE.

WHEN my old hat was new, now thirty-six long years,
I was at the review of the Dublin volunteers.

There have been brought to pass with us a change or two
They're altered times, alas, since my old hat was new.

Our parliament did sit then in our native land:
What good came of the loss of it I cannot understand,
Although full plain I see, that changes not a few
Have fallen on the country since my old hat was new.

The nobles of our country were then our neighbors near, And our old squires and gentry made always jolly cheer. Ah! every night at some one's house or other's was a crew Of merry lords and commoners, when my old hat was new.

They're altered times entirely as plainly now appears,
Our landlord's face we barely see pass once in seven years.
And now the man meets scorn as his coat is green or blue,
We had no need our coats to turn when my old hat was new.

WITH deep affection
And recollection

I often think of

Those Shandon bells,
Whose sounds so wild would
In the days of childhood,
Fling round my cradle
Their magic spells.

On this I ponder
Where'er I wander,

And thus grow fonder,

Sweet Cork, of thee;
With thy bells of Shandon,
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.

*Shandon Church is an odd-looking old structure in the City of Cork.