Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub

The Minstrel Boy.

BY THOMAS MOORE.

The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him
His father's sword he has girded on,

[ocr errors]

And his wild harp slung behind him.
"Land of Song !" said the warrior bard,
"Though all the world betrays thee,
"One sword at least, thy right shall guard,
"One faithful harp shall praise thee."

The Minstrel fell! but the foeman's chain
Could not bring his proud soul under,
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its cords asunder,
And said, "No chains shall sully thee,
"Thou soul of love and bravery!
"Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
"They never shall sound in slavery."

[ocr errors]

The following lines were written and adapted to the air of "MOLLY ASTORE,"

BY THOMAS MOORE, ESQ.

ON HIS APPROACHING THE SHORES OF AMERICA.

The sails are filled, the waves serene;
I hail Columbia's shore,

Perhaps my native valley's green,

May charm these eyes no more:
Here freedom's sons unconquered breathe,
Here, far from tyrant's dwell;
But THERE she twines a cypress wreath,
In sorrow's darkling cell,

But lo! from heaven a beacon light,
(Oh! land of broken pride ;)
Still shines for the serene and bright,
My wayward course to guide.
For thee the western planet grows :--
Beguiles thee far away;—

But o'er the gloom of exile throws,
A mild and genial ray.

THE EXILE'S WELCOME.

Written by J. N. BARKER, and sung at a public dinner at Philadelphia, on the 4th of July, 1816.

Hail to the exile, whose crime was devotion,
To country and honour, to freedom and fame!
Columbia shall welcome, with heart-felt emotion,
The noble in worth, the illustrious in name!
We too have met the blow
Aimed by a tyrant foe,

We too have bled our dear country to save,
Here, ev'ry voice shall cry,
Here, ev'ry bosom sigh,

Hail to the exile, the good and the brave!

II.

Land of the stranger! though shadows enfold thee,
The star of thy glory, yet gleams thro' the night,
And the day will arise, when the world shall behold thee,
Radiant in arms, and resistless in might:

Soon from yon threat'ning cloud,
Bursting abrupt and loud,

The tempest of war on thy toes shall be drïv'n;
While, 'mid the scattered horde,
Vengeance, with flaming sword,

Strikes through the storm like the lightning of heaven!

III.

What are those recreants whose treason betrayed thee!
Shake but thy chains, and the dastards shall flee:
What are the myriads of slaves who invade thee !—
The nation that struggles for freedom is free.
See, where thy warriors speed,

Eager again to bleed,

And from thy confines to chase the fell band:
Despots in vain conspire

When a whole people's ire

Rises, determined to rescue the land.

From the Irish Melodies:

Weep on, weep on, your hour is past,
Your dreams of life are o'er;
The fatal chain is round you cast,
And you are men no more!

In vain the Hero's heart had bled;
The Sage's tongue hath warn'd in vain;
Oh Freedom! once thy flame hath fled,
It never lights again.

Weep on perhaps in after days
They'll learn to love your name,
And many a deed may wake in praise,
That long has slept in blame!
And, when they tread the ruin'd isle,
Where rest, at length, the lord and slave,
They'll wond'ring ask, how hands so vile,
Could conquer hearts so brave!

""Twas fate," they'll say, "a wayward fate,
Your web of discord wove;

And while your tyrants join'd in hate,
You never join'd in love!

But hearts fell off that ought to twine,

And man profan'd what God had giv'n,

'Till some were heard to curse the shrine,
Where others knelt to heaven!"

St. Patrick's Charity Schools.

On the 17th of April, 1817, the patrons of these institutions dined, according to annual custom, at the Freemason's Tavern, Queenstreet, London; the Duke of Sussex in the chair. The following was sung, on the occasion, by Mr. LEONARD.

When the pure soul of honour shall cease to inspire thee,
When kind hospitality flees from thy shore,

When the nations that know thee shall cease to admire thee,
Then Erin, ma vourneen! I'll love thee no more.

When the trumpet of Fame shall no longer proclaim thee,
Of heroes the nurse, as in ages of yore,

When the muse in the records of genius disclaim thee,
Then Erin, ma vourneen! I'll love thee no more.

[ocr errors]

When thy sons shall no longer he pleasant and witty,
Or cease to be loved by the fair they adore
When thy daughters shall cease to be virtuous and pretty,
Then Erin, ma vourneen! I'll love thee no more,

If for George and the princes thou feel no devotion.
The hopes of our orphans, or youth, and our poor;
If their virtues excite in thy heart no emotion,

Then Erin, ma vourneen! I'll love thee the* more.

I have altered the word no in the original for the substitute the, as more congenial to the sentiments of my readers. T. O'C

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][subsumed][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

This Work, for Sale at Mr. Costigan's Book Store, No. 17 Chatham-street, and at the Office of the Emerald, No. 56 William-street.

[ocr errors]
« ForrigeFortsæt »