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Show THE LAST Sl'KVIVOlt "EVA." (Brigid Magill in the Irish Weekly, Belfast.) Eweet songstress of our loved Green Isle, Thy exile dreams of home are o'er; For far beyond the Southern wave Thou'rt laid to rest for evermore; And Erin's wail of direst woe-Ring woe-Ring out across the western sea. And from her eyes the sad tears flow In little streams, dear heart, for thee. Oh. would within an Irish glen You slept in long eternal rest. Where shamrocks, bathed in Irish dew. Might blossom o'er thy loving breast; And song birds of thy native hills Might chant their summer melodv; And perfumed winds might round thee s'crh Their sad and tender lullaby. Oh. peerless gem of Rosin Dhu. Thy fond heart longed to see her f ree. Her virtues ever rich and rare. With golden radiance shown In thee You spurned with pride the tvrant hand " -That pierced her heart and laid her low; You soothed her bleeding virgin form, In days ofdark and wildest woe. Now thou art. gone and Erin weeps Beside the harp that's silent still. But though in slavery still she sleeps Its notes shall yet wake vale and rill. And when her patriot sons shall hail Their Island Queen a nation free. The tenderest strain its chords shal' swell Will be in memories sweet of thee. White lilies culled by sun-kissed streams: With shamrock sprays I will entwine en-twine Fond flowers of thy exile dreams That deck this island home of thine I'll cast across the snowy wave To speak my sorrow deep and true - Above thy lone and silent grave Beyond the ocean wide and blue. |