She has fallen--hath flown, with a lover false-hearted;--
So, mourn for Maureen.

And she who so loved her is slain--(the poor mother!)
Struck dead in a day by a shadow unseen,
And the home we once loved is the home of another,
And lost is Maureen.

Sweet Shannon, a moment by thee let me ponder,
A moment look back at the things that have been,
Then, away to the world where the ruin'd ones wander,
To seek for Maureen.

Pale peasant--perhaps, 'neath the frown of high Heaven,
She roams the dark deserts of sorrow unseen,
Unpitied--unknown; but I--_I_ shall know even
The _ghost_ of Maureen.


_New Monthly Magazine._

* * * * *


THE BURIAL IN THE DESERT.

BY MRS HEMANS.


How weeps yon gallant Band