These all merry all together,
Charm away chill Winter weather!

What will kill this dull old fellow?
Ale that 's bright, and wine that 's mellow!
Dear old songs for ever new;
Some true love, and laughter too;
Pleasant wit, and harmless fun,
And a dance when day is done!
Music--friends so true and tried--
Whispered love by warm fireside--
Mirth at all times all together--
Make sweet May of Winter weather!

[Decoration]

_A KISS._

SAPPHO TO PHAON.

I.

Sweet mouth! O let me take
One draught from that delicious cup!
The hot Sahara-thirst to slake
That burns me up!

II.

Sweet breath!--all flowers that are,
Within that darling frame must bloom;
My heart revives so at the rare
Divine perfume!

III.

--Nay, 't is a dear deceit,
A drunkard's cup that mouth of thine;
Sure poison-flowers are breathing, sweet,
That fragrance fine!

IV.

I drank--the drink betrayed me
Into a madder, fiercer fever;
The scent of those love-blossoms made me
More faint than ever!

V.

Yet though quick death it were
That rich heart-vintage I must drain,
And quaff that hidden garden's air,
Again--again!

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

LADY DUFFERIN.

1807-1867.

_SONG._[A]

April 30, 1833.

I.

When another's voice thou hearest,
With a sad and gentle tone,
Let its sound but waken, dearest,
Memory of _my_ love alone!
When in stranger lands thou meetest
Warm, true hearts, which welcome thee,
Let each friendly look thou greetest
Seem a message, Love, from _me_!

II.

When night's quiet sky is o'er thee,
When the pale stars dimly burn,
Dream that _one_ is watching for thee,
Who but lives for thy return!
Wheresoe'er thy steps are roving,
Night or day, by land or sea,
Think of her, whose life of loving
Is but one long thought of thee!

[Decoration]

[Footnote A: These lines were written to the author's husband,
then at sea, in 1833, and set to music by herself.]

_LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT._

I 'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat, side by side,
That bright May morning long ago
When first you were my bride.
The corn was springing fresh and green,
The lark sang loud and high,
The red was on your lip, Mary,
The love-light in your eye.

The place is little