Page:Fair widow, are ye wauking.pdf/8

8 « Tell her, O Allan, tell, “ Donnel thus bravely fell, “ And that in his last farewell, He thought on his Flora."

Mute stood the trembling fair. Speechless with wild despair, Then striking her bosom bare, Sigh’d out poor Flora, “ O Donnel ! O welladay !” Was all the fond heart could say : At length the sound died away. Feebly in Mora.

THE IRISH FISHERMAN.

An Irishman angling one day in the Lilly, Which runs down by Dublin’s sweet city so fine; A smart shower of rain falling, Pat in a giffy, Crept under the arch of a bridge with his Hue. “ Why that’s not the way to accomplish your wishes,” Cries Dermot, “ the devil a bite you will get “ Ocb, bother,” says Pat, “don’t you know that the fishes, Will flock under here to keep out of the wet.”