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Dark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main
Did you hear of the Widow Malone

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Happy the man who, void of cares and strife

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How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood

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I am far from my hame, an' I'm weary often whiles
I am old and blind

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I have a son, a little son, a boy just five years old

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I'm growing old, I've sixty years

I'm often asked by plodding souls

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In Thee, thou Son of God, in Thee I rest

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In their ragged regimentals

I said to sorrow's awful storm

I sat with Doris, the shepherd maiden

It is not time that flies

It matters little where I was born

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I would not live alway, I ask not to stay

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Likeness of heaven, agent of power

Lovely river, lovely river

Love me little, love me long

Love still has something of the sea

Many a year is in its grave.

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Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning

Methinks it is good to be here

Miss Flora McFlimsey, of Madison Square

Mournfully listening to the waves' strange talk

Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn

My dear and only love, I pray

My life is like the summer rose

My mind to me a kingdom is

My prime of youth is but a frost of care

Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew

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"Nay, wait me here—I'll not be long

Nearer, my God, to thee

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Nigh to a grave that was newly made

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note

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On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billow

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O say can you see, by the dawn's early light

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O, the charge at Balaklava!

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O then tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall

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Our camp-fires shone bright on the mountain
Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass

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O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

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The dawn went up the sky

The breezes went steadily through the tall pines
The chill November day was done

The despot's heel is on thy shore
The dews of summer night did fall
The dule 's i' this bonnet o' mine

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The glories of our birth and state

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The groves of Blarney, they look so charming

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The guests are come, all silent they have waited.

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There's a grim one horse hearse in a jolly round trot

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The tears I shed must ever fall

The tree of deepest root is found

The weather leech of the topsail shivers

The wind blows over the Yukon

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'T is midnight's holy hour,—and silence now

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To drum-beat and heart-beat

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"T was a jolly old pedagogue, long ago

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'T was in heaven pronounced, and 't was muttered
'T was the night before Christmas, when all through
'T was on the night of Michaelmas

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"T was when the wan leaf frae the birk tree wus fa'in'

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Two worlds there are. To one our eyes we strain
Two Yankee wags, one summer day

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Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town
We hail this morn

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We meet 'neath the sounding rafter

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When a' ither bairnies are hushed to their hame

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When another life is added .

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Whence come those shrieks so wild and shrill
When shall we three meet again?

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When the humid shadows hover over all the
When the lessons and tasks are all ended

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When the sheep are in the fauld, and a' the kye
Where the rocks are gray, and the shore is steep.

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Ye gentlemen of England

"You have heard," said a youth to his sweetheart,
You knew-who knew not Astrophel?

You lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier
You may sing of the Blue and the Gray

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THE END

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