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Until this hour I never thought That ought could alter thee, Mary ; Thou’rt still the mistress of my heart. Think what thou wilt of me, Mary.

Whate’er he said, or might pretend, Wha stole that heart o’ thine, Mary. True love I’m sure was ne’er his end, Nor nae sic love as mine, Mary. I spake sincere, ne’er flatter’d much, Had no unworthy thought, Mary. Ambition, wealth, nor naething such— No, I lov’d only thee, Mary.

Though you’ve been false, yet while I live, No other maid I’ll woo, Mary ; Let friends forget, as I forgive, Thy wrongs to them and me, Mary, So then farewell, of this be sure, Since you’ve been false to me, Mary, For all the world I’d not endure, Half what I’ve done for thee, Mary.

THE WARNING MOAN.

A maiden fair lay dying, Within her palace hall. And round her couch was sighing, Her bright attendants all; Her lately coroneted brow Feels many a rending throe, ,

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