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SMILE, AND NEVER HEED ME.

But still her tongue

Far richer music calls to birth
Than all the minstrel power on earth
Can give to song.

And thus she moves in tender light,
The purest ray, where all is bright,
Serene and sweet;

And sheds a graceful influence round, That ballows e'en the very ground Beneath her feet!

SMILE, AND NEVER HEED ME.

THOUGH, when other maids stand by,
I may deign thee no reply,
Turn not then away, and sigh-
Smile, and never heed me!

If our love, indeed, be such
As must thrill at every touch,
Why should others learn as much ?--
Smile, and never heed me!

Where's the use that they should know
If one's heart beat fast or slow ?-
Deepest love avoideth show-

Smile, and never heed me.
Let our hearts, like stars of night,
Shunning day's intrusive light,
Live but for each other's sight-
Smile, and never heed me.

Even if, with maiden pride,
I should bid thee quit my side,
Take this lesson for thy guide—

Smile, and never heed me!
But when stars and twilight meet,
And the dew is falling sweet,
And thou hear'st my coming feet-
Then-thou then-mayst heed me!

I WAITED TILL THE TWILIGHT.

I WAITED till the twilight,
And yet he did not come;

I strayed along the brook-side,
And slowly wandered home;
When who should come behind me,
But him I would have chid?
He said he came to find me-
Do you really think he did?

He said, since last we parted,
He'd thought of naught as sweet
As of this very moment-

The moment we should meet.
He showed me where, half shaded,
A cottage-home lay hid;
He said for me he made it-
Do you really think he did?

He said when first he saw me

Life seemed at once divine; Each night he dreamed of angels, And every face was mine:

Sometimes a voice, in sleeping,

Would all his hopes forbid; And then he wakened, weepingDo you really think he did?

THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK.

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On the old, old clock of the household stock
Was the brightest thing and neatest;
Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold,
And its chime rang still the sweetest.
'Twas a monitor, too, though its words were few,
Yet they lived, though nations altered;
And its voice, still strong, warned old and young,
When the voice of friendship faltered!
Tick, tick, it said-quick, quick, to bed-
For ten I've given warning;
Up, up, and go, or else, you know,

You'll never rise soon in the morning!

A friendly voice was that old, old clock,
As it stood in the corner smiling,
And blessed the time with a merry chime,
The wintry hours beguiling;

But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock,
As it called at daybreak boldly,

When the down looked gray o'er the misty way,
And the early air blew coldly;

Tick, tick, it said-quick, out of bed-
For five I've given warning;

You'll never have health, you'll never get wealth,
Unless you're up soon in the morning.

Still hourly the sound goes round and round,
With a tone that ceases never;

While tears are shed for the bright days fled,
And the old friends lost forever!

Its heart beats on-though hearts are gone
That warmer beat and younger;

Its hands still move-though hands we love
Are clasped on earth no longer!
Tick, tick, it said-to the churchyard bed,
The grave hath given warning-
Up, up, and rise, and look to the skies,
And prepare for a heavenly morning!

LIFE.

LIFE's not our own-'tis but a loanTo be repaid;

Soon the dark Comer's at the door, The debt is due-the dream is o'erLife's but a shade.

Thus all decline-that bloom or shine-
Both star and flower;

'Tis but a little odor shed-
A light gone out-a spirit fled-
A funeral hour!

Then let us show a tranquil brow,
Whate'er befalls;

That we upon life's latest brink

May look on Death's dark face--and think An angel calls!

GERALD GRIFFIN.

GERALD GRIFFIN was born in Limerick, December 12, 1803. In 1820 his parents emigrated to the United States, and he went to live with an elder brother at Adare. He had published occasional poems in the Limerick newspapers, and at the age of eighteen wrote a tragedy entitled "Aguire." With this in his pocket, he went to London in 1823, determined to devote himself to literature. He found no market for his tragedy; and another which he wrote, entitled "Gisippus," was equally unfortunate, until after his death it was brought out with great success at Drury Lane. Griffin was compelled to work for the newspapers and periodicals, and scon

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became known as a brilliant magazinist. He published "Holland Tide" and "Tales of the Munster Festivals" in 1827, and in 1828 "The Colleen Bawn, or the Collegians," the most celebrated of his novels, which has been dramatized by Boucicault. Among his other works are "The Rivals," "The Duke of Monmouth," and "Tales of the Jury-Room." In 1838 he entered the society of Christian Brothers at Cork, where he died of a fever on June 12, 1840. His complete works in ten volumes (of which the poems and tragedy of "Gisippus" form one volume), with a life by his brother, were published in New York.

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It is not that my fortunes flee,

Nor that my cheek is pale

I mourn whene'er I think of thee,
My darling native vale!-
A wiser head I have, I know,

Than when I loitered there-
But in my wisdom there is woe,

And in my knowledge, care.

I've lived to know my share of joy,
To feel my share of pain-

To learn that friendship's self can cloy,
To love and love in vain-

To feel a pang and wear a smile,

To tire of other climes

To like my own unhappy isle,

And sing the gay old times!

And sure the land is nothing changed,

The birds are singing still;

The flowers are springing where we ranged,
There's sunshine on the hill!
The sally, waving o'er my head,

Still sweetly shades my frame-
But ah, those happy days are fled,
And I am not the same!

Oh, come again, ye merry times!
Sweet, sunny, fresh and calm-
And let me hear those Easter chimes,
And wear my Sunday palm.
If I could cry away mine eyes,
My tears would flow in vain-
If I could waste my heart in sighs,
They'll never come again!

A PLACE IN THY MEMORY, DEAREST.

A PLACE in thy memory, dearest,

Is all that I claim,

To pause and look back when thou hearest
The sound of my name.
Another may woo thee, nearer,
Another may win and wear;
I care not though he be dearer,
If I am remembered there.

Remember me-not, as a lover
Whose hope was crossed,
Whose bosom can never recover
The light it hath lost,

As the young bride remembers the mother
She loves though she never may see,
As a sister remembers a brother,

Oh, dearest! remember me.

Could I be thy true lover, dearest,
Couldst thou smile on me,

I would be the fondest and nearest
That ever loved thee!

But a cloud on my pathway is glooming

That never must burst upon thine;

And Heaven, that made thee all blooming, Ne'er made thee to wither on mine.

Remember me then!-oh, remember!
My calm, light love;

Though bleak as the blasts of November
My life may prove,

That life will, though lonely, be sweet, If its brightest enjoyment should be, A smile and kind word when we meet, And a place in thy memory.

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TIME AND ETERNITY.

An equal league in danger's hour,
My country, then I weep for thee.

And when they point to our fair Isle,
And say no patriot hearts have we-
That party stains the work defile,

My country-then I blush for thee.

But Hope says, "Blush or tear shall never
Sully approving Fame's decree."
When Freedom's word her bonds shall sever,
My country, then I'll joy in thee.

But oh! be Scotland honored long,
Be envy ever far from me,
My simple lay meant her no wrong,
My country-it was but for thee!

'TIS, IT IS THE SHANNON'S STREAM.

'TIs, it is the Shannon's stream Brightly glancing, brightly glancing, See, oh see the ruddy beam

Upon its waters dancing!
Thus returned from travel vain,
Years of exile, years of pain,
To see old Shannon's face again,
Oh, the bliss entrancing!
Hail, our own majestic stream,
Flowing ever, flowing ever,
Silent in the morning beam,
Our own beloved river!

Fling thy rocky portals wide,

Western ocean, western ocean; Bend, ye hills, on either side,

In solemn, deep devotion;
While before the rising gales
On his heaving surface sails
Half the wealth of Erin's vales,
With undulating motion.
Hail, our own beloved stream,
Flowing ever, flowing ever,
Silent in the morning beam,
Our own majestic river!

On thy bosom deep and wide,
Noble river, lordly river,
Royal navies safe might ride,
Green Erin's lovely river!
Proud upon thy banks to dwell,
Let me ring Ambition's knell,
Lured by Hope's illusive spell

Again to wander, never.
Hail, our own romantic stream,
Flowing ever, flowing ever,
Silent in the morning beam,
Our own majestic river!

Let me, from thy placid course,
Gentle river, mighty river,
Draw such truth of silent force,
As sophist uttered never.
Thus, like thee, unchanging still,
With tranquil breast, and ordered will,

My Heaven-appointed course fulfil,
Undeviating ever!

Hail, our own majestic stream,
Flowing ever, flowing ever,
Silent in the morning beam,
Our own delightful river!

TIME AND ETERNITY.

FOR, Stretch to life's extremest span

The brilliant course of earthly pleasure, How looks the space assigned to man, Lost in the vast eternal measure!

Rank, fortune, love, earth's highest bliss, All life can yield, of sweet or splendid, Are but a thing that scarcely is,

When lo! its mortal date is ended!

So swift is time, so briefly lost

The fleeting joys of life's creation, What seems the present, is the past, Before the mind can mark its station.

On earth we hold the spirit blest,

That learns to bear affliction cheerly; And what we call, and fancy rest, Is brief annihilation merely.

'Tis vain to say in youthful ears,

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Time flees, earth fades, with all its pleasures; The ardent heart attentive hears,

But naught of transient counsel treasures.

'Tis heavenly grace alone, my child, The fruit of prayer attending duly, Can firmly stem the tumult wild,

Of earthly passion rising newly. Then shall we for so brief a world,

A speck in Nature's vast dominion, With hope's high banner basely furled, Return to earth with slothful pinion?

Forbid it truth, forbid it love,

The faithless thought untold should perish, Forbid it all we hope above,

And all on earth we know and cherish!

YOU NEVER BADE ME HOPE.

I.

You never bade me hope, 'tis true
I asked you not to swear-
But I looked in those eyes of blue,
And read a promise there.

II.

The vow should bind with maiden sighs
That maiden's lips have spoken-
But that which looks from maiden's eyes
Should last of all be broken!

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