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To seek ye the fairest tint on earth From nature’s beauteous train; In the gorgeous east or the snow-clad north, Or away o’er the southern main; ’Mid the isles that vie with the land of the belast ’Neath their cloudless skies of blue; Or search ye the pride and the wealth of the west For the fairest and loveliest hue. Some boast of the red with its glaring flaunt And its deep ensanguined dye; And some of the kindly purple vaunt, Or the blue of a Grecian sky. But a tint there is that is far above The purple or ruby's sheen;— Of earth are they—but Almighty love Is clothed in the beautiful green. At natures birth, when her colors arose, And her beauties were all arrayed; The bright warm green was the tint she chose, And of green was her mantle made. When she comes with the spring to adorn our globe, The bountiful Goddess is vain Of the varying hues of her beauteous robe As a maid of her silken train. In summer, with flow’rets bright and wild She decks out her mantle fair, With playful grace, as a laughing child Twines rosebuds through her hair. In Autumn she rules with her brightest glow, When the rich, ripe fruits are seen Where fairest their tempting beauties show— ’Mid their deep dark leaves of green. But Oh! in the Winter she loves it most, When her bright gay hues are flown; When the pride and the beauty of summers are lost And the fruits of Autumn are gone; All fled are the joyous smiles of Spring, Not a wild flower even is seen; But still round the Goddess for ever doth cling Her emerald robe of green. Oh! fairest and best of the colors of earth, How I love thy genial smile! The bright warm hue in my heart gives birth To dreams of my own Green Isle. To my childhood’s home swift memory runs, O’er every well-known scene; Ah! deep in the hearts of her exiled sons is the love of their beautiful green. ’Tis never extinguished—it never decays— It came with their earliest breath; ’Tis a light that is holy and pure, whose rays Are vanquished alone by death. God grant that the dawn of the morning is nigh Where o’er Liberty’s ranks will be seen Their heart cherished sunburst rise gleaming on high From its glorious filed of green. —J.B. O'Reilly.

Tonight, my friends, with hollow mirth We sing away our cares; But ah! there is woeful dearth Of music in the airs. A smile t’is true, is on each lip, A light is in each eye, As onward speeds our crowded ship, Beneath a brilliant sky; A silvery ripple in her wake, A soft breeze in her sail, As southward still our course we take From thee, lov’d Innisfail. But in each voice there is a thrill,— A soft, sad thrill of pain, That tells of memories, that fill The heart, as back again On fancies wing, across the foam, We fly to those who weep, Breathing angel prayers at home, For lov’d ones on the deep. To loving wife, and lisping child— To maiden idoliz’d— To mother dear—to sister mild— To all beloved and priz’d;— And to our hearts, in mute despair, Each best lov’d one is pressed,