Helen Blackwood, Baroness Dufferin and Claneboye

It has thine own dear playful look— Thy smile! thy sun-bright hair! Thy brow—so like a holy book With sweet thoughts written there! The full, soft lids, half-raised above Those blue and dreamy eyes,

Rest now—and weep—thou praised of Earth! And own, when all is done, A world's false worship is not worth The deep tried love of one.

Thou mourner for departed dreams! On earth there is no rest When grief hath troubled the pure streams Of memory in thy breast!

Oh, Bay of Dublin! How my heart you're troublin', Your beauty haunts me like a fever dream; Like frozen fountains, that the sun sets bubblin' My heart's blood warms when I but hear your name.

I'm bidding you a long farewell, My Mary—kind and true! But I'll not forget you, darling, In the land I'm going to. They say there's bread and work for all, And the sun shines always there;

I'm very lonely now, Mary,— The poor make no new friends;— But, oh! they love the better still The few our Father sends

I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side, That bright May morning long ago When first you were my bride. The corn was springing fresh and green, The lark sang loud and high,

Do, Car, open your eyes (and shut your mouth) and see that this is not our old world when we were all young, handsome women, much observed and talked of, and that you are no longer an ideal of Vanity Fair.

What a spirit of contradiction possesses one's kind friends! I, who have never done anything, am supposed to be capable of doing much; it is a great lesson, which I shall lay to heart. I will never give the measure of my shallowness; I …

Surely it is hardly worthwhile to take up a pursuit merely to please other people.

I am persuaded one ought not to set one's heart earnestly on any one pursuit in this world, if one wishes to preserve any of the energy of youth beyond its first years.

I am what Doctor Johnson would call a "compendious epitome" of all the virtues—in one volume very neatly bound, and very rare—there being but one copy extant.

You see Georgy’s the beauty and Carry’s the wit, and I ought to be the good one, but then I am such a liar.

In short, the world owns that we are the best-looking family in England and we are pretty well disposed to agree.