POETRY.
IRISH SONG.
'Tux white blossom's off the bog, and the leaves are off the trees, And the singin' birds have scattliered across the stormy seas,_ And oh ! 'tis winter,
Wild, wild 'winter,
Wid' the lonesome wind•sighin' forever through the trees !
IL
How green the leaves were springin9 how glad the birds were singin ' When I rested in the meadow wid' me hdad on Patrick's knees. And oh ! 'twas spring-time, Sweet, sweet spring-time,
-Wid' the daisies all dancin' before me in the breeze.
-Wid' the spring the fresh leaves they'll laugh upon the trees, And the birds they'll flutther back wid' their songs across the seas, But I'll never rest agin' wid' my head on Patrick's knees,—
And for me 'twill be winter,
Wild, -wild winter,
Wid' the lonesome wind sighin' forever through the trees.
AUTHOR OF "SONGS OF KILLARNEY."
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