POETRY.

SONG OF THE IRISH PEASANT WIFE.

BY MRS. NORTON.
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Come, Patrick, clear Up Ilse si"rm your brow, You were kind Co me once--w ynu irowR O0 me nOw7 Shall the storm settle here when ii from heav departs And the cold from whoU, find its way to our hearsi No, Patrick, no, surely the wintriest weather Is easily bOrne-while we bear il together. Though the rains dropping through from the roof to

 Ibe floor.

 And the wind whistles free where there once was a

 dOor;

 Can the rain ar the snow, or the storm wash away All the warm vows made in lOve's early day No, Patrick, DO. surely the dark stormy weather Is easily borne-so we bear it together. When-yoU stole out to me, hen labor done, And the day that ~aa closing to seem'd begun, Did fl the sunset was bright ihe flowers, Or if we crept out anid tlrkn ness and showersf No, Patrick. we talked when we braved the wild wea.

 iher,

 Of all we could hesr--if we bore i, together. Soon. soon, will these dark wintry days be gone by, And hearts he Ii, "p'with beam from the sky, Oh! lei not oUr spirits, enibittered with pain, Be dead to the sunshine iha, comes to t,eM: Heart in heart-hand im handles, welcome the

 weather,

 And, sunshine ar storm, we will bear i together.