POETRY.
IRISH SONG.
[Ain: "When I rose in the Inorning."1 ! my love 's an arbutus, By the borders of Leane,* So slender and shapely, In her girdle of green ; And I measure the pleasure Of her eyes' sapphire sheen By the blue skies that sparkle Through the soft-branching screen.
But though ruddy the berry, And snowy the flower, That brighten together That beautiful bower, Perfuming and blooming Through sunshine and shower,.
Give me her bright lips And her laugh's pearly dower.
Alas ! fruit and blossom Shall fade on the lea, And Time's jealous fingers Dim your young charms, machreer But unranging, unchanging, I know you'll cling to me, Like the evergreen leaf To the arbutus tree. A. PERCEVAL GRAVES.-
"The Lakes of Killarney were anciently, and are often still, called collec- tively Lough Leaue."—Dr. Joyce's "Irish Names of Places."
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