DUNOLLY'S DAUGHTER.

Oh, dear to old Dunolly's heart

His darling daughter seemed,

Yet when she fled, how pitiless

His bitter curse was deemed.

To death he doomed her lover true,

And swore his lowly blood

Should stain the land, whose soil would blush

At wanton womanhood.

But leaves were thick, and woods were green,

Where summer saw their love,

And none could tell Dunolly where

Was nesting his wild dove.

Two years had sped, and all unchanged

Dunolly's mood remained;

When tired with hunting, late at eve

A forest hut he gained.

A cheerful scene! for hung on trees

On either side the door

A stag and roe, and salmon there

Lay strewn the hut before.

There pausing silently he heard

Light laughter, O well known;

And, looking through the wattled wall

Stood motionless as stone.

He saw a happy woman lie

Her true man's form beside;

And laugh as on the bed they tossed

A smiling child in pride.

No word Dunolly spoke, but went,

An altered man, and said;

“Go bring them home, for rich are they,

Love shows them nobly wed.”