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Ann S. Stephens

To. a Gardener.

Friend, in my mountain-side demesne, My-plain-beholding, rosy, green.

And linnet-haunted-garden-ground set still the esculents abound Iret first the onion-flourish there Rose-among-roots, the maiden-fair Wine-flavoured-and-poetic soul Of the capacious salad boral Let thyme the mountaineer (to-dress The linier birds) and raadino cress The lover of the shalloza brook From-all-our-plots and borders look Nor crisp and ruddy radish, nor Peasecods for the child's pinafore.

Be lacking; nor of salad clan The last and least that ever ran About great natures garden beds.

Nor thence be missed the speary heads Of artichoke; nor thence the bean.

That gathered innocent and green, Our savours the belauded pea.

These tend, 1 prithee; and for me.

Thy most long-suffering master, bring In April, when the linnets sing.

And the days lengthen more and more.

At sundown : to . the kitchen door.

And I being provided thus.

Shall, with superb asparagus.

Abook.a taper, and a cup, Of country wine, divinely sup. (501) The Bells of Shandon.

B ITH deep affection And recollection, I often think of The Shandon bells, Whose sound so wild would In days of childhood Fling round my cradle Their magic spells.

On this I ponder, Where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee, With thy bells of Shandon That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.

I've heard bells chiming Full many a clime in, Tolling sublime in Cathedral shrine, While at a glib rate Brass tongues would vibrate; But all their music Spoke naught like thine; For memory, dwelling On each proud swelling Of thy belfry, knelling Its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.

I've heard bells tolling Old Adrian's Mole in, Their thunder rolling From the Vatican; And cymbals glorious Swinging uproarious From the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame ; But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly.

Oh, the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee!

There's a bell in Moscow; While on tower and kiosk O In St. Sophia The Turkman gets, T And loud in air Calls men to prayer From the tapering summits Of tall minarets.

Such empty phantom I freely grant them; But there's an anthem More dear to me: 'Tis the bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.