Then will I seek the dreary mound

That wraps thy mouldering clay,

And weep and linger on the ground,

And sigh my heart away.

THE HARPER.

On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was

nigh,

No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I;

No harp like my own could so cheerily play,
And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.

When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, She said, (while the sorrow was big at her heart) Oh! remember your Sheelah when far, far away; And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray.

Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, And he constantly loved me, although I was poor;

When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless

I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.

away,

When the road was so dark, and the night was so

cold,

And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old,

How snugly we slept in my old coat of grey,

And he lick'd me for kindness

- my poor dog Tray

Though my wallet was scant, I remember'd his case,

Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face;

But he died at my feet on a cold winter day,

And I play'd a sad lament for my poor dog Tray.

Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind?

To my sweet native village, so far, far away,

I can never more return with my poor dog Tray.