14
IRISH MELODIES.
Though icy cold by day it ran,
Yet still, like souls of mirth, began
To burn when night was near:
And thus, should woman's heart and looks
At noon be cold as winter brooks,
Nor kindle till the night, returning,
Brings their genial hour for burning.
Oh! stay,— Oh! stay,—
When did morning ever break,
And find such beaming eyes awake
As those that sparkle here!
