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"Tis true, in manliest eyes

A passing tear will rise,

When we think of the friends we leave lone; But what can wailing do?

See, our goblet's weeping too!

With its tears we'll chase away our own, boy,

our own;

With its tears we'll chase away our own.

But daylight's stealing on;

The last that o'er us shone

Saw our children around us play;

The next-ah! where shall we

And those rosy urchins be?

But no matter-grasp thy sword and away, boy, away;

No matter-grasp thy sword and away!

Let those, who brook the chain

Of Saxon or of Dane,

Ignobly by their firesides stay;

One sigh to home be given,
One heartfelt prayer to heaven,

Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, hurra!

hurra! hurra!

Then, for Erin and her cause, hurra!

THE WANDERING BARD.

WHAT life like that of the bard can be,-
The wandering bard, who roams as free
As the mountain lark that o'er him sings.
And, like that lark, a music brings
Within him, where'er he comes or goes,—
A fount that for ever flows!

The world's to him like some play-ground,
Where fairies dance their moonlight round;
If dimm'd the turf where late they trod,
The elves but seek some greener sod;
So, when less bright his scene of glee,
To another away flies he!

Oh, what would have been young Beauty's doom,
Without a bard to fix her bloom?
They tell us, in the moon's bright round,
Things lost in this dark world are found;
So charms, on earth long pass'd and gone,
In the poet's lay live on.-

Would ye have smiles that ne'er grow dim?
You've only to give them all to him,
Who, with but a touch of Fancy's wand,

Can lend them life, this life beyond,

And fix them high, in Poesy's sky,—
Young stars that never die!

Then, welcome the bard where'er he comes,—

For, though he hath countless airy homes,

To which his wing excursive roves,
Yet still, from time to time, he loves
To light upon earth and find such cheer
As brightens our banquet here.

No matter how far, how fleet he flies,
You've only to light up kind young eyes,
Such signal-fires as here are given,—
And down he'll drop from Fancy's heaven,
The minute such call to love or mirth
Proclaims he's wanting on earth!

ALONE IN CROWDS TO WANDER ON.

ALONE in crowds to wander on,
And feel that all the charm is gone
Which voices dear and eyes beloved

Shed round us once, where'er we roved-
This, this the doom must be

Of all who've loved, and lived to see

The few bright things they thought would stay For ever near them, die away.

Tho' fairer forms around us throng,

Their smiles to others all belong,

And want that charm which dwells alone

Round those the fond heart calls its own.

Where, where the sunny brow?

The long-known voice-where are they now?
Thus ask I still, nor ask in vain,
The silence answers all too plain.

Oh, what is Fancy's magic worth,
If all her art cannot call forth
One bliss like those we felt of old

From lips now mute, and eyes now cold?
No, no,-her spell is vain,-

As soon could she bring back again

Those eyes themselves from out the grave, As wake again one bliss they gave.

I'VE A SECRET TO TELL THEE

I'VE a secret to tell thee, but hush! not here,—
Oh! not where the world its vigil keeps:

I'll seek, to whisper it in thine ear,

Some shore where the Spirit of Silence sleeps Where summer's wave unmurm'ring dies,

Nor fay can hear the fountain's gush; Where, if but a note her night-bird sighs,

The rose saith, chidingly, "Hush, sweet, hush!”

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