Una. Machree.

Southland Times, Issue 9543, 13 June 1887, Page 4

Una. Machree.

♦ : (Th« Irish Sxile to His Wife.) Dear Una, moithore/itty wml's bleasing onjoa For none/ love, need tell mt your heart ib bUI true; ] But maybe yondon'tknow4pw;<i«*rly I pm? Your soft waving hair and youc dark flashing O, darling, my wild throbbing heart I would 'Neath your feet where -they step with suflh lightness and grace, , And I know that a carpet like this wouldn't be Too costly to lay-'nwth my, .Una, inachre*. Don't you mind, my dear love, in the street bud* ; How the oil Irish airs made the glad valley* And when^ummer came round, with her mantle How we wandered at eve throngh the shady cohreen. - . Oft flpellbound- I stood, while your voice at command „ Thrilled my heart with- the lays of my own xfativeLand. Oh ! the tears dim my eyes oft, my coleen mosthore. To think you may ein them in Erin no more. But long tho' the time may be, Una, machrec, Till our own darling Jan J of Old Erin we'll see, Still we'll pray some blest morn we shall open On the greeifol'her land,; and the blue of her And our love shall be warm, and our faith shall be strong , For that land made immortal in story and And in dream* of the night still our visio-R shallbft Of that lovely Green Island far over the se% I And firm is my hope, darling Una, inosthore, That we'll see once again that Old Land we adore, . „ t , For I know, be it early or late, we shall stand Yet again, my dear love, in our heart-chenslna land. Tho' the land of the stranger have blessings on And peace, and contentment, and riches galore; Tho' the land of the stranger be glorious and free Oh, it is not'onr own land, sweet Una, machree! And I know how our hearts shall flow over with mirth When our feet tread again the dear land of our birth— , Land of gladness and Borrow, of laughter and tears, , , Where the grass grows co geeen through the on-speeding yea- s; . And sweet teais of the Holiest ]oy we shall nrgpn As we look on the graves where our forefathers sleep ; Oa Una ! my darling, soon, bucu may we Bee That land we so worship, my cushla machree I GrBO. IIUEBAT. Glasgow Herald.