POETRY.
IRISH SONG.
[Suggested by four lines in Banting's collection,—to the air of "The Rejected Lover."] ON Innisfallen's fairy isle,
Amid the blooming bushes, We leant upon the lovers' stile, And listened to the thrushes ; When first I sighed to see her smile, And smiled to see her blushes.
Her hair was bright as beaten gold, And soft as spider's spinning, Her cheek out-bloomed the apple old That set our parents sinning, And in her eyes you might behold My joys and griefs beginning.
In Innisfallen's fairy grove I hushed my happy wooing, To listen to the brooding dove Amid the branches cooing ; But oh ! how short those hours of love, How long their bitter rueing !
Poor cushat ! thy complaining breast With woe like mine is heaving.
With thee I mourn a fruitless quest ; For ah ! with art deceiving The cuckoo-bird has robbed my nest, And left me wildly grieving.
THE AUTHOR OF "SONGS OF KILLARNEY."'
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