What has poor Ireland done, mother, - Do the men of England care not, mother, - Whether they live or die? There is many a brave heart here, mother, While only across the Channel, mother, There are rich and proud men there, mother, And the bread they fling to their dogs to-night Come nearer to my side, mother, My father when he died; My breath is almost gone; AMELIA BLANDFORD EDWARDS. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, "Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter. "And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. "His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?" Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief, I'm ready: It is not for your silver bright; But for your winsome lady: "And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry : So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry." You bumpkins! who stare at your brother con- But many a house an' home was open then to veyed, Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid! me; Many a han'some offer I had from likely men, And be joyful to think, when by death you 're And nobody ever hinted that I was a burden laid low, You've a chance to the grave like a gemman to go! Rattle his bones over the stones! He's only a pauper whom nobody owns! But a truce to this strain; for my soul it is sad, Bear soft his bones over the stones! THOMAS Noel. then. And when to John I was married, sure he was good and smart, But he and all the neighbors would own I done my part; For life was all before me, an' I was young an strong, And I worked the best that I could in tryin' to get along. And so we worked together and life was hard, but gay, With now and then a baby for to cheer us on our way; Till we had half a dozen, an' all growed clean an' neat, OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE. | An' went to school like others, an' had enough But this is a sort of journey I never thought I'd have died for my daughters, I'd have died And God he made that rule of love; but when I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was we 're old and gray, small, I've noticed it sometimes somehow fails to work And she was always a-hintin' how snug it was the other way. Strange, another thing: when our boys an' girls was grown, And when, exceptin' Charley, they'd left us there alone; for us all ; And what with her husband's sisters, and what with child'rn three, 'T was easy to discover that there was n't room for me. When John he nearer an' nearer come, an' dearer An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I've seemed to be, got, The Lord of Hosts he come one day an' took him For Thomas's buildings 'd cover the half of an away from me. Still I was bound to struggle, an' never to cringe or fall Still I worked for Charley, for Charley was now my all; acre lot; But all the child'rn was on me- I could n't stand their sauce And Thomas said I need n't think I was comin' there to boss. And Charley was pretty good to me, with scarce An' then I wrote to Rebecca, my girl who lives a word or frown, out West, Till at last he went a-courtin', and brought a wife And to Isaac, not far from her some twenty from town. miles at best; And She was somewhat dressy, an' had n't a pleasant smile one of 'em said 't was too warm there for any one so old, And She was quite conceity, and carried a heap o' t'other had an opinion the climate was too cold. style; But if ever I tried to be friends, I did with her, So they have shirked and slighted me, an' shifted But she was hard and proud, an' I could n't make | So they have well-nigh soured me, an' wore my it go. She had an edication, an' that was good for her; But when she twitted me on mine, 't was carryin' things too fur; But old heart out; still I've borne up pretty well, an' was n't much put down, Till Charley went to the poor-master, an' put me on the town. An' I told her once, 'fore company (an' it almost Over the hill to the poor-house made her sick), dear, good by! - my child'rn That I never swallowed a grammar, or 'et a 'rith- Many a night I've watched you when only God metic. |