B Our speech was a token, our silence a sign, My heart's dearest treasure, First told me of love that responded to mine. II. In the dark gloomy dawn of my life's early morning, When I gazed from the tower, And beheld thee below in thy beauty and grace; No more I lamented, But found a new hope in the heaven of thy face. III. The hope I then cherished has never deceived me, With thee all my days have been days of delight; My heart's partner and wife, The weight of a crown is a burden of pain ; And might I resign it, 'Twere sweet to be with thee in Windsor again. THAT IS THE WAY. 63 THAT IS THE WAY. I. To leave your business to your clerks, To pass your time with "gents" and "sparks;" To haunt casinos, taverns, plays, Or in your bed to pass your days; To look for bread to dead men's wills, To ask a Jew to cash your bills, Or trust the word of all you meet; That is the way to Portugal Street. II. To stint yourself at every meal, To screw and starve, if not to steal; And to despise it as a friend; And when your brother needs your aid, To save your pounds and live on pence; III. To overtask your weary brain ; The wine-cup to the dregs to drain; To hunt your cause from court to court; To grieve and pine, to scorn and hate ;- IV. To give a woman all her will, V. To yield to pleasures like a rage, Or trust to quacks your health to save ;- VI. To love your art, and at its call To yield your health, your wealth, and all, To love it more than fame or ease; VII. To keep life's balance true and fair, PROTESTATIONS. To live but as your purse allows, To love your children and your spouse; 65 PROTESTATIONS. I. If the apple grows On the wild wood free; I cannot help loving thee. II. Yet if wild winds blew Never more on the lea; And no blossoms grew On the healthy tree; And the river untrue And they all had ceased blowing, And growing, and flowing; I'd ne'er cease loving thee. F III, And till that hour, In the dark or bright; In the bloom or the blight: I'll ne'er cease loving thee. IRELAND'S WELCOME TO QUEEN [Air by JOHN SMITH, Mus. Doc., Dublin.] I. SAD Erin! thy harp has been silent too long; Its strings to thy touch throb responsive no more; Thy voice, once attuned to the raptures of song, But raises a moan on thy desolate shore. Arouse thee, O Erin! look up through thy tears; The Queen of the Isles in thy havens appears, With sisterly love, and all sympathies true ;— Awaken thy harp-let it sound on her ears,"Cead mile failte !—Erin aboo !" 11. The night of thy sorrow shall melt in the morn; Already the darkness gives place to the day; And thy children that sat on their thresholds forlorn, Look up to the sunshine that brightens the way. |