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      THOU ART

so tear and yet so far.

I know an eye, so softly bright,
That glistens like a star of night,
My soul it draws with glances kind,
To heavens' blue vault, and there I find,
Another star as pure and clear,
As that which mildly sparkles here;
       Beloved eye! beloved star!
       Thou art so near and yet so far;
       Beloved; eye! beloved star I
       Thou art so near, and yet so far.

That eye so soft, like violets blue,
A treasure bears of morning dew;
And when its light entranced I see,
What joy, what pain possesses me;
A world where I would gladly dwell,
Is that bright orb I love so well.
                       Beloved eye, &c.

If closed at last that radient eye shall be
No more the day will dawn for me,
If night should dim its laughing light,
0 then for ever, ever 'twill be night,
Those eyes that brightly softly shine
For me the sun and moon combine,
                       Beloved eye, &c.

     PAT MOLLOY.

GIVE ME BACK BUT

   BUT YESTERDAY

Oh, give me back but yesterday,
I know what I would do;
What friends I'd cherish in my heart,
What dear ones I would woo.
I'd listen to no envious voice,
To part me by his breath,
And cause me during life to shun
Those fondly loved in death.
                                     Oh, give, &c.

But useless are those dreams of joy,
And vainly I deplore;
It only bids me live in love
And close my heart no more.
Then let me cherish yesterday,
Since lessons it will give,
Nor leave for Mends but sad regrets,
But love them whilst they live.

                        PAT MOLLOY.

I was just eighteen years of age, my mother's white-hair'd boy,
She kept a little huckster's shop, and her name it was Mollby,
"I have thirteen children, Pat," says she, " which heaven to
has sent,
But children are not pigs, yen know, for they can't pay the

She gave me every shilling that there was in the till,
And kissed me fifty times, as if she'd never get her fill;
"God bless you, Pat," says she, you are my darling boy,
For Old Ireland is your country, and your name is Pat Mellep"

O England is a pretty place, of gold there is no lack!
I tramp'd from York to London with the soil upon my back¹
O the English girls are beautiful, their love I don't decline,
But the eating and the drinking is beautiful and fine;

But in the corner of this heart where nobody can ace,
Lies two eyes of Irish blue, always looking out on me,
"But never mind, Molly darling, I am still your faithful boy,
For Old Ireland is my country, and your name shall be Mollo."

From England to America, across the seas I roam'd
And every shilling that I made, sure I sent it home;
My mother could not write, but this came from father Boys,
"Heaven bless you. Fat!" was as though I heard my
voice,