Part 19 (1/2)

There's an Isle, a green Isle, set in the sea, Here's to the Saint that blessed it!

And here's to the billows wild and free That for centuries have caressed it!

Here's to the day when the men that roam Send longing eyes o'er the water!

Here's to the land that still spells home To each loyal son and daughter!

Here's to old Ireland--fair, I ween, With the blue skies stretched above her!

Here's to her shamrock warm and green, And here's to the hearts that love her!

LESLEY.

From the little bald head to the two little feet, You are winsome, and bonnie, and tender, and sweet, But not for this do I love you.

You're wilful, cajoling, not fond of restraint, A creature of moods--no tiresome saint-- You're wise and you're wistful, and oh, you are quaint, But not for this do I love you.

You're a rose of a maiden, the pink and the white Of your face is to me a rare thing of delight, But not for this do I love you.

That ”agoo” on your lips is the tenderest thing, And the eyes smiling at me, ye bonnie wee thing, Are violets washed with the dewdrops of spring, But not for this do I love you.

Come, nestle down close on my bosom, you dear, The secret I'll whisper right into your ear, Because you are _you_ do I love you,

Because you are you, just you, oh, my own, Because you are Lesley, this reason alone Will do for us, darling, until you are grown, Because you are _you_ do I love you.

THE TRYST.

The harvest moon in yellow haze Is steeping all the sea and land, Is kindling paths and s.h.i.+ning ways Around the hills, across the sand.

And there are only thou and I-- O sweetheart, I've no eyes to note The glory of the sea and sky, I see a softly rounded throat,

A face uplifted, pure and sweet, Two blue eyes filled with trust and love; Enough, the sea sings at our feet, The harvest moon sails just above.

A GOOD WOMAN.

Her eyes are the windows of a soul Where only the white thoughts spring, And they look, as the eyes of the angels look, For the good in everything.

Her lips can whisper the tenderest words That weary and worn can hear, Can tell of the dawn of a better morn Till only the cowards fear.

Her hands can lift up the fallen one From an overthrow complete, Can take a soul from the mire of sin And lead it to Christ's dear feet.