No IX. SWEET INNISFALLEN. AIR-The Captivating Youth. SWEET Innisfallen, fare thee well, May calm and suushine long be thine! How fair thou art let others tell, While but to feel how fair is mine! Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well, And long may light around thee smile, As soft as on that evening fell When first I saw thy fairy isle! Thou wert too lovely then for one Who had to turn to paths of careWho had through vulgar crowds to run, And leave thee bright and silent there: No more along thy shores to come, But on the world's dim ocean tost, Dream of thee sometimes as a home Of sunshine he had seen and lost! Far better in thy weeping hours To part from thee, as I do now, When mist is o'er thy blooming bowers, Like Sorrow's veil on Beauty's brow. For, though unrivall'd still thy grace, Thou dost not look, as then, too blest, But, in thy shadows, seem'st a place Where weary man might hope to rest Might hope to rest, and find in thee A gloom like Eden's, on the day He left its shade, when every tree, Like thine, hung weeping o'er his way! Weeping or smiling, lovely isle! And still the lovelier for thy tearsFor though but rare thy sunny smile, 'T is heaven's own glance, when it appears. Like feeling hearts, whose joys are few, But, when indeed they come, divine—. The steadiest light the sun e'er threw Is lifeless to one gleam of thine! 'T WAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS. AIR-The Song of the Woods. 'T was one of those dreams that by music are brought, The wild notes he heard o'er the water were those It seem'd as if every sweet note that died here Oh forgive if, while listening to music, whose breath Even so, though thy memory should now die away, "T will be caught up again in some happier day, And the hearts and the voices of Erin prolong, Through the answering future, thy name and thy song!» FAIREST! PUT ON AWHILE. FAIREST! put on awhile These pinions of light I bring thee, And o'er thy own green isle In fancy let me wing thee. Never did Ariel's plume, At golden sunset, hover O'er such scenes of bloom As I shall waft thee over. Fields, where the Spring delays, And fearlessly meets the ardour That Love hath just been crowning. Islets so freshly fair That never hath bird come nigh them, But, from his course through air, Hath been won downward by them—' Types, sweet maid of thee, Whose look, whose blush inviting, Never did Love yet see From heaven, without alighting. Lakes where the pearl lies hid, And caves where the diamond's sleeping, Bright as the gems that lid Of thine lets fall in weeping. Glens,3 where Ocean comes, To 'scape the wild wind's rancour, And harbours, worthiest homes Where Freedom's sails could anchor. Then if, while scenes so grand, So beautiful, shine before thee, In describing the Skeligs (islands of the Barnoy of Forth) Dr Ke ing says there is a certain attractive virtue to the soil, which draws down all the birds that attempt to fly over it, and obliges them to light upon the rock. 2 Nennius, a British writer of the 9th century, mentions the abas dance of pearls in Ireland. Their princes, he says, bung them be hind their ears; and this we find confirmed by a present made 1094. by Gilbert, Bishop of Limerick, to Anselm, Archbishop of Can terbury, of a considerable quantity of Irish pearls.—O`HALLORA 1 Glengariff. Pride for thy own dear land Should haply be stealing o'er thee; Oh, let grief come first, O'er pride itself victorious To think how man hath curst What Heaven had made so glorious! QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND. AIR-Paddy Snap. QUICK! we have but a second, Fill round the cup, while you may, Then quick! we have but a second, For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, And we must away, away! See the glass, how it flushes, And half meets thine, and blushes If ever thou seest the day, Then, quick! we have but a second, AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS. AIR-Unknown. AND doth not a meeting like this make amends For all the long years I've been wandering away? To see thus around me my youth's early friends, As smiling and kind as in that happy day! Though haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine, The snow-fall of time may be stealing-what then? Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again. What soften'd remembrances come o'er the heart, In gazing on those we 've been lost to so long! The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part, Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng. As letters some hand hath invisibly traced, When held to the flame will steal out on the sight, So many a feeling, that long seem'd effaced, The warmth of a meeting like this brings to light. And thus, as in Memory's bark we shall glide That once made a garden of all the gay shore, Deceived for a moment, we 'll think them still ours, more.' So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most, For want of some heart, that could echo it, near. Ah, well may we hope, when this short life is gone, To meet in some world of more permanent bliss; For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hastening on, Is all we enjoy of each other in this." But come-the more rare such delights to the heart, The more we should welcome, and bless them the more: They 're ours when we meet-they are lost when we part, Like birds that bring summer, and fly when 't is o'er. Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we drink Let sympathy pledge us, through pleasure, through pain, That, fast as a feeling but touches one link, Her magic shall send it direct through the chain. THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE. AIR-The Mountain Sprite. IN yonder valley there dwelt, alone, He was haunted and watch'd by a Mountain Sprite. As he, by moonlight, went wandering o'er Beside a fountain, one sunny day, And he saw in the clear wave the Mountain Sprite. He turn'd-but lo, like a startled bird, One night, pursued by that dazzling look, 1 Jours charmans, quand je songe à vos heureux instans, Et mon cœur enchanté sur sa rive fleurie, The same thought has been happily, expressed by my friend, Mr Washington Irving, in his Bracebridge Hull, vol. i. p. 213. The pleasure which I feel in calling this gentleman my friend, is enhanced by the reflection that he is too good an American to have admitted me so readily to such a distinction, if he had not known that my feelings towards the great and free country that gave him birth have long beeu such as every real lover of the liberty and happiness of the human race must entertain. Thomas, the heir of the Desmond family, had accidentally been so engaged in the chace, that he was benighted near Tralee, and obliged to take shelter at the Abbey of Feal, in the house of one of his dependents, called Mac Cormac. Catherine, a beautiful daughter of his host, instantly inspired the Earl with a violent passion, which he could not subdue. He married her, and by this inferior alliance alienated his followers, whose brutal pride regarded this indulgence of his love as an unpardonable degradation of his family.»LELAND, vol. 2. 2 This air bas been already so successfully supplied with words by Mr Bayly, that I should have left it untouched, if we could have spared so interesting a melody out of our collection. Love came, and brought sorrow I would drain it with pleasure, These verses are meant to allude to that ancient haunt of super stition, called Patrick's Purgatory. In the midst of these gloomy regions of Donnegall (says Dr Campbell) lay a lake, which was to be come the mystic theatre of this fabled and intermediate state. lo the lake were several islands; but one of them was dignified with that called the Mouth of Purgatory, which, during the dark ages, attracted the notice of all Christendom, and was the resort of penitents and pilgrims, from almost every country in Europe. It was, as the same writer tell us, one of the most dismal and dreary spots in the North, almost inaccessible, through deep glous and rugged mountains, frightful with impending rocks, and the hollow marmurs of the western winds in dark caverns, peopled only with such fantastic beings as the mind, however gay, is from strange association wont to appropriate to such gloomy scenes.--Strictures on the Ecclesiastical and Literary History of Ireland. There, there, far from thee, Deceitful world, my home should be- The dry leaves quivering o'er my head, My soul from Life's deluding scene, As they who to their couch at night Like freezing founts, where all that 's thrown SHE SUNG OF LOVE. AIR-The Munster Man. SHE of love-while o'er her lyre As if to feed with their soft fire The soul within that trembling shell. But soon the West no longer burn'd, Each rosy ray from heaven withdrew; The minstrel's form seem'd fading too. The thought here was suggested by some beautiful lines in Mr Rogers's Poem of Human Life, beginning: Who ever loved, but had the thought That fading image to my heart— Oh light of youth's resplendent day! SING-SING-MUSIC WAS GIVEN. AIR-The Humours of Ballamaguiry, or the Old SING-sing-Music was given To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving; But love from the lips his true archery wings; To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving; By harmony's laws alone are kept moving. When Love, rock'd by his mother, Till faint from his lips a soft melody broke, Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows I would quote the entire passage, but that I fear to put my own National Airs. ADVERTISEMENT. through the world. To supply this other half, by uniting with congenial words the many fugitive melodies which have hitherto had none, or only such as are unintelli and ambition of the present work. Neither is it our intention to confine ourselves to what are strictly called National Melodies, but, wherever we meet with any wandering and beautiful air, to which poetry has not, yet assigned a worthy home, we shall venture to claim it as an estray swan, and enrich our humble Hippocrene with its song. Ir is Cicero, I believe, who says « natura ad modos du-gible to the generality of their hearers, is the object' cimur; and the abundance of wild indigenous airs which almost every country, except England possesses, sufficiently proves the truth of his assertion. The lovers of this simple but interesting kind of music are here presented with the first number of a collection, which I trust their contributions will enable us to continue. A pretty air without words resembles one of those half creatures of Plato, which are described as wandering, in search of the remainder of themselves, T. M. All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest! Who would seek or prize Delights that end in aching? Who would trust to ties That every hour are breaking? Better far to be In utter darkness lying, Than be blest with light and see That light for ever flying. All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest! SO WARMLY WE MET. So warmly we met and so fondly we parted, That which was the sweeter even I could not tellThat first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted, Or that tear of passion which bless'd our farewell. In smiles and in tears, than that moment to this. The first was like day-break-new, sudden, delicious, morrow Would bring back the blest hour of meeting again. THOSE EVENING BELLS. AIR-The Bells of St Petersburgh. THOSE evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells, Of youth, and home, and that sweet time, Those joyous hours are past away! And so 't will be when I am gone; SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES. SHOULD those fond hopes e'er forsake thee, The metre of the words is here necessarily sacrificed to the air. |