LOVE-SONGS, AND SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.

THE COOLIN.

HAD you seen my sweet Coolin at the day's early dawn, When she moves through the wild wood or the wide dewy lawn ;

There is joy, there is bliss in her soul-cheering smile, She's the fairest of the flowers of our green-bosom'd isle.

In Belanagar dwells the bright blooming maid,
Retired like the primrose that blows in the shade;
Still dear to the eyes that fair primrose may be,
But dearer and sweeter is my Coolin to me.

Then, boy, rouse you up! go and bring me my steed,
Till I cross the green vale and the mountains with speed;
Let me hasten far forward, my lov'd one to find,
And hear that she's constant, and feel that she's kind.

O dearest thy love from thy childhood was mine,
O sweetest! this heart from life's opening was thine;
And though coldness by kindred or friends may be shown,
Still! still, my sweet Coolin, that heart is thine own.

Thou light of all beauty, be true still to me;

Forsake not thy swain, love, though poor he may be :
For rich in affection, in constancy tried,

We may look down on wealth in its pomp and its pride.

Remember the night, love! when safe in the shade
We marked the wild havoc the wild wind had made;
Think! think how I sheltered thee-watched thee with

care;

Oh, think of the words, love, that fell from us there!

MAURICE DUGAN.

SINCE CŒLIA'S MY FOE.

SINCE Cœlia's my foe,

To a desert I'll go

Where some river

For ever

Shall echo my woe.

The trees shall appear

More relenting than her,
In the morning

Adorning

Each leaf with a tear.

When I make my sad moan

To the rocks all alone,

From each hollow

Will follow

Some pitiful groan.

But with silent disdain

She requites all my pain,
To my mourning
Returning

No answer again.

COME ALL YOU PALE LOVERS.

COME all you pale lovers that sigh and complain, While your beautiful tyrants but laugh at your pain, Come practise with me

To be happy and free,

In spite of inconstancy, pride, or disdain.
I see and I love, and the bliss I enjoy
No rival can lessen nor envy destroy.

My mistress so fair is, no language or art
Can describe her perfection in every part;
Her mien's so genteel,

With such ease she can kill

By each look, with new passion, she captures my heart.

Her smile's the kind message of love from her eyes; When she frowns 'tis from others her flame to disguise. Thus her scorn or her spite

I convert to delight,

As the bee gathers honey wherever he flies.

My vows she receives from her lover unknown,
And I fancy kind answers although I have none.
How blest should I be

If our hearts did agree,

Since already I find so much pleasure alone.
I see and I love, and the bliss I enjoy
No rival can lessen, nor envy destroy.

THOMAS DUFFET.

PEGGY BROWNE.

OH, dark-sweetest girl-are my days doomed to be,
While my heart bleeds in silence and sorrow for thee:
In the green spring of life to the grave I go down,
Oh, shield me, and save me, my lov'd Peggy Browne!

I dreamt that at evening my footsteps were bound To yon deep-spreading wood where the shades fall around;

I sought, 'midst new scenes, all my sorrows to drown, But the cure of my grief rests with thee, Peggy Browne.

PEGGY BROWNE-GENTLE BRIDEEN.

'Tis soothing, sweet maiden, thy accents to hear,
For like wild fairy music they melt on the ear;
Thy breast is as fair as the swans clothed in down,
Oh, peerless and perfect's my own Peggy Browne.

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Dear, dear is the bark to its own cherished tree,
But dearer, far dearer, is my lov'd one to me:
In my dreams I draw near her uncheck'd by a frown,
But my arms spread in vain to embrace Peggy Browne.
CAROLAN.

(Translated by Thomas Furlong.)

GENTLE BRIDEEN.

O GENTLE, fair maiden, thou hast left me in sadness;
My bosom is pierced with Love's arrow so keen;
For thy mien it is graceful, thy glances are gladness,
And thousands thy lovers, O gentle Brideen!
The grey mist of morning in autumn was fleeting,

When I met the bright darling down in the boreen ;* Her words were unkind, but I soon won a greeting; Sweet kisses I stole from the lips of Brideen!

Oh, fair is the sun in the dawning all tender,

And beauteous the roses beneath it are seen! Thy cheek is the red rose! thy brow the sun-splendour! And, cluster of ringlets! my dawn is Brideen!

Then shine, O bright sun, on thy constant true lover; Then shine, once again, in the leafy boreen,

And the clouds shall depart that around my heart hover, And we'll walk amid gladness, my gentle Brideen.

CAROLAN.

(Translated by George Sigerson, M.D.) *Anglice, a narrow lane.