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RICHARD LOVELACE.

RICHARD LOVELACE, an English dramatist and poet, born in Kent, 1618; died in London, 1658. He shone at the court of Charles I., and sacrificed liberty and fortune for that unhappy prince. His "Lucasta" is a collection of charming verse, "The Scholar" is a comedy of merit, and "The Soldier" is a tragedy.

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS.
TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,

That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,-
The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such

As you too should adore :

I could not love thee, dear, so much
Loved I not honor more.

FROM THE GRASSHOPPER.

O THOU that swing'st upon the waving ear
Of some well-filled oaten beard,
Drunk every night with a delicious tear

Dropt thee from heaven, where now thou art reared,

The joys of earth and air are thine entire,

That with thy feet and wings dost hop and fly;

And when thy poppy works thou dost retire
To thy carved acorn bed to lie.

Up with the day, the Sun thou welcom'st then,
Sport'st in the gilt plaits of his beams,
And all these merry days mak'st merry men,
Thyself, and melancholy streams.

VOL. XIV. -1

SAMUEL LOVER.

SAMUEL LOVER, an Irish poet and novelist, born at Dublin, Feb. 24, 1797; died at St. Heliers, July 6, 1868. He was intended for business, but became a painter and exhibited great facility in writing songs and sketches of Irish character. He published "Legends and Stories of Ireland," two series (1830-1834); "Rory O'More, a National Romance" (1837); "Songs and Ballads " (1839), including "The Low-Backed Car," "Widow Machree," "The Angel's Whisper," and "The Four-Leaved Shamrock"; "Handy Andy, an Irish Tale" (1842); "Treasure Trove" (1844); "Metrical Tales and Other Poems" (1859), besides a number of plays and operas. His Life and Unpublished Works, edited by B. Bernard, appeared in 1874.

He was remarkable for his versatility, but his fame rests mainly upon his Irish songs and novels, which are full of humor and felicitous pictures of peasant life.

WIDOW MACHREE.

WIDOW machree, it's no wonder you frown,

Och hone! widow machree:

Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown.
Och hone! widow machree.

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Widow machree, now the summer is come,

Och hone! widow machree,

When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum ?
Och hone! widow machree!

See, the birds go in pairs,

And the rabbits and hares-
Why, even the bears

Now in couples agree.
And the mute little fish,

Though they can't spake, they wish,-
Och hone! widow machree!

Widow machree, and when winter comes in,
Och hone! widow machree,

To be poking the fire all alone is a sin,
Och hone! widow machree!

Sure the shovel and tongs

To each other belongs,

And the kettle sings songs

Full of family glee;
While alone with your cup,
Like a hermit you sup,

Och hone! widow machree!

And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld, Och hone! widow machree,

But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld?
Och hone! widow machree!

With such sins on your head,
Sure your peace would be fled.
Could you sleep in your bed,
Without thinking to see
Some ghost or some sprite,

That would wake you each night,

Crying, "Och hone! widow machree!"

Then take my advice, darling widow machree,
Och hone! widow machree;

And with my advice, faith, I wish you'd take me,
Och hone! widow machree!

You'd have me to desire,

Then to stir up the fire;

And sure Hope is no liar
In whispering to me.

That the ghosts would depart
When you'd me near your heart,

Och hone! widow machree!

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