tinguished itself, and, though it cannot be denied that a single melody most naturally expresses the language of feeling and passion, yet often, when a favourite strain has been dismissed as having lost its charm of novelty for the ear, it returns in a harmonized shape with new claims upon our interest and attention; and to those who study the delicate artifices of composition, the construction of the inner parts of these pieces must afford, I think, considerable satisfaction. Every voice has an air to itself, a flowing succession of notes, which might be heard with pleasure independent of the rest, so artfully has the harmonist (if I may thus express it) gavelled the melody, distributing an equal portion of its sweetness to every part.

IRISH MELODIES.

T. M.

GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE.

Go where glory waits thee,
But while fame elates thee,

Oh! still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest
To thine ear is sweetest,

Oh! then remember me.
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee,
Sweeter far may be ;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,
Oh! then remember me.

When at eve thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,

Oh! then remember me.
Think, when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning.
Oh! thus remember me.

Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On in its lingering roses,

Once so loved by thee,
Think of her who wove them,
Her who made thee love them,

Oh! then remember me.

When, around thee dying,
Autumn leaves are lying,

Oh! then remember me.
And, at night, when gazing,
On the gay hearth blazing,

Oh! still remember me.
Then, should music, stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,

Draw one tear from thee;
Then let memory bring thee
Strains I used to sing thee,—
Oh! then remember me.

WAR SONG.

REMEMBER THE GLORIES OF BRIEN THE BRAVE.

REMEMBER the glories of Brien the brave,

Though the days of the hero are o'er;

2

Though lost to Mononia, and cold in the grave,

He returns to Kinkora3 no more.

1 Brien Borohme, the great monarch of Ireland, who was killed at the battle of Clontarf in the beginning of the 11th century, after having defeated the Danes in twenty-five engagements.

2 Munster.

The palace of Brien.

That star of the field. which so often hath pour'd
Its beam on the battle, is set;

But enough of its glory remains on each sword,
To light us to victory yet.

Mononia! when Nature embellish'd the tint
Of thy fields and thy mountains so fair,
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print
The footstep of slavery there?

No! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign,
Go, tell our invaders, the Danes,

That 'tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine,
Than to sleep but a moment in chains.

Forget not our wounded companions, who stood'
In the day of distress by our side:

While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood,
They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died.

That sun which now blesses our arms with his light
Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain ;-

Oh let him not blush when he leaves us to-night,
To find that they fell there in vain.

ERIN THE TEAR AND THE SMILE IN THINE EYES.
ERIN the tear and the smile in thine eyes
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies!
Shining through sorrow's stream,

Saddening through pleasure's beam,
Thy suns with doubtful gleam

Weep while they rise.

Erin thy silent tear shall never cease,

Erin thy languid smile ne'er shall increase,

Till, like the rainbow's light,

Thy various tints unite,

And form in Heaven's sight

One arch of peace!

OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME.

OH! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid;
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.

This alludes to an interesting circumstance relating to the Dalgais, the favourite troops of Brien, when they were interrupted in their return from the battle of Clontarf, by Fitzpatrick, prince of Ossory. The wounded men entreated that they might be allowed to fight with the rest. 'Let stakes,' they said, 'be stuck in the ground, and suffer each of us.

tied to and supported by one of these stakes, t be placed in his rank by the side of a sound man.' 'Between seven and eight hundred wounded mea (adds O'Halloran), pale, emaciated, and supported in this manner, appeared mixed with the foremost of the troops; never was such another sight exhibited.'-History of Ireland, book 12, chap.i.

But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps;
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.

WHEN HE WHO ADORES THEE.

WHEN he who adores thee has left but the name

Of his fault and his sorrows behind,

Oh! say, wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame
Of a life that for thee was resign'd?

Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn,
Thy tears shall efface their decree;

For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them,
I have been but too faithful to thee.

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love;
Every thought of my reason was thine;

In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above,
Thy name shall be mingled with mine.

Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live
The days of thy glory to see;

But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give
Is the pride of thus dying for thee.

THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS.

THE harp that once through Tara's halls

The soul of music shed,

Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls

As if that soul were fled.

So sleeps the pride of former days,

So glory's thrill is o'er,

And hearts, that once beat high for praise,

Now feel that pulse no more.

No more to chiefs and ladies bright

The harp of Tara swells :

The chord alone, that breaks at night,
Its tale of ruin tells.

Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,

The only throb she gives

Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still she lives.

FLY NOT YET.

FLY not yet; 'tis just the hour
When pleasure, like the midnight flower
That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night,

And maids who love the moon.

"Twas but to bless these hours of shade
That beauty and the moon were made;
"Tis then their soft attractions glowing
Set the tides and goblets flowing.

Oh! stay,-oh! stay,

Joy so seldom weaves a chain
Like this to-night, that, oh! 'tis pain
To break its links so soon.

Fly not yet; the fount that play'd
In times of old through Ammon's shade,1
Though icy cold by day it ran,
Yet still, like souls of mirth, began

To burn when night was near,

And thus should woman's heart and looks
At noon be cold as winter brooks,
Nor kindle till the night, returning,
Brings their genial hour for burning.
Oh! stay,-oh! stay,-

When did morning ever break,
And find such beaming eyes awake
As those that sparkle here?

OH! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE ALWAYS AS LIGHT.

OH! think not my spirits are always as light,

And as free from a pang, as they seem to you now:
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night
Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow.
No;-life is a waste of wearisome hours,

Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns ;
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers,
Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.
But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile :-
May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here,
Than the tear that enjoyment may gild with a smile,
And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear!

:

The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows!
If it were not with friendship and love intertwined;
And I care not how soon I may sink to repose,
When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my mind.

1 Solis Fons, near the Temple of Ammon.

But they who have loved the fondest, the purest,

Too often have wept o'er the dream they believed;
And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship securest
Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceived.

But send round the bowl; while a relic of truth

Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine,—
That the sunshine of love may illumine our youth,

And the moonlight of friendship console our decline.

THOUGH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF ERIN WITH SORROW I SEE
THOUGH the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see,

Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me;
In exile thy bosom shall still be my home
And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam.

To the gloom of some desert or cold rocky shore,
Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more,
I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough wind
Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind.

And I'll gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it wreathes,
And hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes;
Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear
One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.1

RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE WORE

RICH and rare were the gems she wore,

And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore;
But, oh! her eauty was far beyond

Her sparkling gems or snow-white wand.

'Lady, dost thou not fear to stray,

So lone and lovely, through this bleak way?
Are Erin's sons so good or so cold,
As not to be tempted by woman or gold?'

In the twenty-eighth year of the reign of Henry VIII, an act was made respecting the habits, and dress in general, of the Irish, whereby all persons were restrained from being shorn or shaven above the ears, or from wearin Glibbes, or Coulins (long locks), on their heads, or hair on their upper lip, called Crommeal. On this occasion a song was written by one of our bards, in which an Irish virgin is made to give the preference to her dear Coulin (or the youth with the flowing locks) to all strangers (by which the English were meant), or those who wore their habits. Of this song the air alone has reached us, and is universally admired."Walker's Historical Memoirs of Irish Burds, page 231. M:. Walker informs us also that, about

the same period, there were some harsh
measures taken against the Irish minstrels.
2 This ballad is founded upon the following
anecdote :-"The people were inspired with
such a spirit of honour, virtue, and religion, by
the great example of Brien, and by his excellent
administration, that as a proof of it we are in-
formed that a young lady of great beauty,
adorned with jewels and costly dress, undertook
a journey alone from one end of the kingdom to
the other, with a wand only in her hand, at the
top of which was a ring of exceeding great value;
and such an impression had the laws and govern-
ment of this monarch made on the minds of
all the people, that no attempt was made
upon her honour, nor was she robbed of her