My breast can scarce contain my heart, When dancing she moves finely O; I guess what heaven is by her eyes, They sparkle sae divinely O; My Nanie O, my Nanie O, The flower o' Nithsdale's Nanie O; Love looks frae 'neath her lang brown hair, And says, I dwell with Nanie O. Tell not, thou star at grey daylight, O'er Tinwald-tap sae bonny O, My footsteps 'mang the morning dew When coming frae my Nanie O; My Nanie O, my Nanie O; Nane ken o' me and Nanie O; The stars and moon may tell't aboon, They winna wrang my Nanie O! _THOMAS MOORE_ CANADIAN BOAT-SONG FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past! Why should we yet our sail unfurl? There's not a breath the blue wave to curl! But, when the wind blows off the shore, Oh, sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past! Ottawa's tide! this trembling moon Shall see us float o'er thy surges soon. Saint of this green isle, hear our prayers, Oh, grant us cool heavens and favouring airs. Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past. GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE Go where glory waits thee, But while fame elates thee, Oh, still remember me. When the praise thou meetest To thine ear is sweetest, Oh, then remember me. Other arms may press thee, Dearer friends caress thee, All the joys that bless thee Sweeter far may be; But when friends are nearest, And when joys are dearest, Oh, then remember me. When at eve thou rovest By the star thou lovest, Oh, then remember me. Think, when home returning, Bright we've seen it burning. Oh, thus remember me. Oft as summer closes, When thine eye reposes On its lingering roses, Once so loved by thee, Think of her who wove them, Her who made thee love them, Oh, then remember me. When, around thee dying, Autumn leaves are lying, Oh, then remember me. And, at night, when gazing On the gay hearth blazing, Oh, still remember me. Then, should music, stealing All the soul of feeling, To thy heart appealing, Draw one tear from thee; Then let memory bring thee Strains I used to sing thee, Oh, then remember me. THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS THE harp that once through Tara's halls, The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts, that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more. No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells: The chord alone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells. Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives. RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE WORE