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.”