A home where Freedom loves to dwell,

A paradise on earth.”

My Poor Dog Tray.

On the green banks of Shannon, when Shelah was nigh,

No blythe 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 Shelah to part,

She said—while the sorrow was big in her heart,—