Where is she gone, where is she gone?
Which holds that all waltzing is quite incorrect:
And I--am left all alone!
But a fire's in my heart and a fire's in my brain,
When she waltzes away with Sir Phelim O'Shane;
I don't think I ever _can_ ask her again:
Where is she gone, where is she gone?
And, lord! since the summer she's grown very plain,
And I--am left all alone!

She said that she liked me a twelvemonth ago!
Where is she gone, where is she gone?
And how should I guess that she'd torture me so!
And I--am left all alone!
Some day she'll find out it was not very wise
To laugh at the breath of a true lover's sighs:
After all, Fanny Myrtle is not such a prize;
Where is she gone, where is she gone?
Louisa Dalrymple has exquisite eyes:
And I'll be--no longer alone!


Mr. Praed has an exquisite poem, "Memory;" and we had nearly passed by a
song by Mr. T. Moore.


Alone beneath the moon I roved,
And thought how oft in hours gone by,
I heard my Mary say she loved
To look upon a moonlight sky!