THE HARPER.

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

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No blithe Irish lad was fo happy as I;

No harp like my own could fo cheerily play,

And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.

When at last I was forc'd from my Sheelah to part, 5

She faid (while the forrow was big at her heart),

Oh! remember your Sheelah when far far

away;

And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray.

Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, And he conftantly lov'd me, although I was poor; When the four-looking folks fent me heartless away, I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.

When the road was fo dark, and the night was fo cold,

And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old,
How fnugly we slept in my old coat of grey,

And he lick'd me for kindnefs-my poor dog Tray.

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Though my wallet was fcant, I remember'd his case,

Nor refus'd my last crust to his pitiful face;
But he died at my feet on a cold winter day,
And I play'd a fad lament for my poor dog Tray.

Where now fhall I go, poor, forfaken, and blind? Can I find one to guide me, fo faithful and kind? To my sweet native village, fo far far away,

I can never more return with my poor dog Tray.

THE END.

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Printed by MUNDELL & SON,2
Royal Bank Close, Edinburgh. S

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