No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells; Its tale of ruin tells. The only throb she gives To show that still she lives ! But they who have loved the fondest, the purest, Too often have wept o'er the dream they believed ; Is happy indeed if 't were never deceived. Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine,- cline. FLY NOT YET. THOUGH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF ERIN Fly not yet, 't is just the hour WITH SORROW I SEE. When pleasure, like the midnight flower AIR-Coulin. That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, Begins to bloom for sons of night, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me; In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, 'Twas but to bless these hours of shade And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam. That beauty and the moon were made; "Tis then their soft attractions glowing To the gloom of some desert or cold rocky shore, Set the tides and goblets flowing. Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more, Oh! stay-Oh! stay I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough wind Joy so seldom weaves a chain Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind. Like this to-night, that oh! 't is pain To break its links so soon. And I'll gaze on thy gold hair, as graceful it wreathes, And hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes; Fly not yet, the fount that play'd Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear In times of old through Ammon's shade,' One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.' Through 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 RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE At noon be cold as winter brooks, WORE.2 AIR—The Summer is coming. Rich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore; And find such beaming eyes awake But oh! her beauty was far beyond Her sparkling gems or snow-white wand. So lone and lovely, through this bleak way? As not to be tempted by woman or gold ?" AIR-John O'Reilly the Active. 1 “In the twenty-eighth year of the reign of Henry VIII. Oh! think not my spirits are always as light, an act was made respecting the habits, and dress in general And as free from a pang as they seem to you now; of the Irish, whereby all persons were restrained from being shorn or shaven above the ears, or from wearing glibbes, or Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night Coulins (long locks,) on their heads, or hair on their upper Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow. lip, called Crommeal. On this occasion a song was written No-life is a waste of wearisome hours, 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 Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; flowing locks,) to all strangers (by which the English were And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers meant,) or those who wore their habits. Of this song the Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns ! air alone has reached us, and is universally admired." Walker's Historical Memoirs of Irish Bards, page 134. But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile ; Mr. Walker informs us also, that, about the same period, May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here, were some harsh measures taken against the Irish Minstrels. Than the tear that enjoyment can gild with a smile, the people were inspired with such a spirit of honour, 2 This ballad is founded upon the following anecdote: And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear. virtue, and religion, by the great example of Brien, and by his excellent administration, that, as a proof of it, we are The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows, informed that a young lady of great beauty, adorned with If it were not with friendship and love intertwined ;) jewels and a costly dress, undertook a journey alone from And I care not how soon I may sink to repose, 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 When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my value; and such an impression had the laws and government mind! 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 clothes or jewels."-Warner's History of Ireland, 1 Solis Fons, near the temple of Ammon. Vol. i. Book 10. 9 “Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm, For on thy deck, though dark it be, A female form I see; THE LADY. “Oh! Father, send not hence my bark And blest for ever is she who relied Through wintry winds and billows dark. Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride! I come, with humble heart, to share Thy morn and evening prayer; Nor mine the feet, oh! holy Saint, The brightness of thy sod to taint.” The lady's prayer Senanus spurn'd; The winds blew fresh, the bark return'd Till morning's light delay'd, And given the saint one rosy smile, She ne'er had left his lonely isle. AIR—The Twisting of the Rope. And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee. And, as I watch the line of light that plays THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.' Along the smooth wave toward the burning west, AIR—The Old Head of Denis. I long to tread that golden path of rays, There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet And think 't would lead to some bright isle of rest! As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;? Oh! the last ray of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE. Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; WRITTEN ON RETURNING A BLANK BOOK. 'Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill AIR-Dermott. Oh! no—it was something more exquisite still. TAKE back the virgin page, 'Twas that friends the beloved of my bosom were near, White and unwritten still ; Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, Some hand more calm and sage And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, The leaf must fill. When we see them reflected from looks that we love. Thoughts come as pure as light, Pure as even you require: Sweet vale of Avoca ! how calm could I rest But oh! each word I write In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, Love turns to fire. Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, Yet let me keep the book ; And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. Oft shall my heart renew, 1 In a metrical life of St. Senanus, taken from an old Kilkenny MS. and which may be found among the Acta No. II. Sanctorum Hibernie, we are told of his flight to the island of Scattery, and his resolution not to admit any woman of the party; he refused to receive even a sister saint, St. Can ST. SENANUS AND THE LADY. nera, whom an angel had taken to the island, for the express purpose of introducing her to him. The following was the AIR—The Brown Thorn. ungracious answer of Senanus, according to his poetical biographer: ST. SENANUS. “Oh! haste, and leave this sacred isle, Cui Præsul, quid fæminis Commune est cum monachis? Unholy bark, ere morning smile; Nec te nec ullam aliam Admittemus in insulam. 1 “The Meeting of the Waters” forms a part of that beautiful scenery which lies between Rathdrum and Ark See the Acta Sanct. Hib. page 610. low, in the county of Wicklow, and these lines were sug- According to Dr. Ledwich, St. Senanus was no less a gested by a visit to this romantic spot, in the summer of 1807. personage than the river Shannon; but O'Connor, and other 2 The rivers Avon and Avoca. antiquarians deny this metamorphose indignantly. When on its leaves I look, Dear thoughts of you ! Like you, too bright and fair One wrong wish there ! Far, far away I roam, Towards you and home, Worthy those eyes to meet; Pure, calm, and sweet! Which wandering seamen keep, Through the cold deep- Tell through what storms I stray, Guiding my way! Bright links that Glory wove, Sweet bonds, entwined by Love! Long may the fair and brave Light o'er the land, is fled. But brightly flows the tear Truth, peace and freedom hung ! So long shall Erin's pride a THE LEGACY. AIR-Unknown. When in death I shall calm recline, O bear my heart to my mistress dear; Tell her it lived upon smiles and wine Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here: Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow To sully a heart so brilliant and light; But balmy drops of the red grape borrow, To bathe the relic from morn till night. When the light of my song is o'er, Then take my harp to your ancient hall; Hang it up at that friendly door, Where weary travellers love to call." Then if some bard, who roams forsaken, Revive its soft note in passing along, Oh ! let one thought of its master waken Your warmest smile for the child of song Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing, To grace your revel when I'm at rest; Never, oh! never its balm bestowing On lips that beauty hath seldom blest! But when some warm devoted lover To her he adores shall bathe its brim, Then, then my spirit around shall hover, And hallow each drop that foams for him. WE MAY. ROAM THROUGH THIS WORLD Air-Garyone. feast, We may order our wings and be off to the west. Are the dearest gifts that Heaven supplies, For sensitive hearts and for sun-bright eyes. you roam, Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home. In England, the garden of beauty is kept By a dragon of prudery, placed within call; That the garden 's but carelessly watch'd after all. Which round the flowers of Erin dwells, Nor charms us least when it most repels. you roam, 1 I have endeavoured here, without losing that Irish charac ter which it is my object to preserve throughout this work, HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED. to allude to the sad and ominous fatality by which England has been deprived of so many great and good men at a moAIR-The Dear Black Maid. ment when she most requires all the aids of talent and in tegrity. IIow oft has the Benshee cried ! 2 This designation, which has been applied to Lord NelHow oft has death untied son before, is the title given to a celebrated Irish hero, in a poem by O'Gnive, the bard of O'Niel, which is quoled in the "Philosophical Survey of the South of Ireland," page 1 "In every house was one or two harps, free to all tra- 433. “Con, of the hundred fights, sleep in thy grass-grows vellers, who were the more caressed the more they excelled tomb, and upbraid not our defeats with thy victories!" in music."-O'Halloran. 3 Fox, “ultimus Romanorum." 1 a When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, On Lough Neagh's bank as the fishermen strays,' Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home. When the clear, cold eve 's declining, He sees the round towers of other days, In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail, In the wave beneath him shining ! On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try, Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail, Catch a glimpse of the days that are over; But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-bye! Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time While the daughters of Erin keep the boy For the long-faded glories they cover! The same as he look'd when he left the shore. THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.2 Through this world whether eastward or westward Air-Arrah my dear Eveleen. you roam, SILENT, oh Moyle! be the roar of thy water, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose, Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home. While murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. When shall the swan, her death-note singing, Sleep with wings in darkness furld? When will Heaven, its sweet bell ringing, Call my spirit from this stormy world ? Sadly, oh Moyle! to thy winter wave weeping, The Lord of the valley with false vows came; Fate bids me languish long ages away; Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping, Still doth the pure light its dawning delay! Warm our isle with peace and love? When will Heaven, its sweet bell ringing, But none will see the day, When the clouds shall pass away, Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame. COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE. AIR—We brought the Summer with us. COME, send round the wine, and leave points of beWhere the Lord of the valley cross'd over the moor; lief To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools; This moment 's a flower too fair and brief, schools. Soon melted away Every trace on the path where the false Lord came; in Ireland. Long before the birth of Christ, we find a hereBut there's a light above ditary order of chivalry in Ulster, called Cura idhe na CraWhich alone can remove oibhe ruadh, or the knights of the Red Branch, from their chief seat in Emania, adjoining to the palace of the Ulster That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame. kings, called Teagh na Craoibhe ruadh, or the Academy of the Red Branch; and contiguous to which was a large hospital, founded for the sick knights and soldiers, called Bronbhearg, or the house of the sorrowful soldier.”-O'Hallo . LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS OF OLD. Iran's Introduction, etc. part. i. chap. 5. 1 It was an old tradition, in the time of Giraldus, that AIR-The Red Fox. Lough Neagh had been originally a fountain, by whose sud den overflowing the country was inundated, and a whole reLET Erin remember the days of old, gion, like the Atlantis of Plato, overwhelmed. He says that Ere her faithless sons betray'd her; the fishermen, in clear weather, used to point out to stran gers the tall ecclesiastical towers under the water. “PiscaWhen Malachi wore the collar of gold, tores aquæ illius turres ecclesiasticas, quæ more patriæ arcWhich he won from her proud invader; tæ sunt et altæ, necnon et rotundw, sub undis manifeste, When her kings, with standard of green unfurl'd, sereno tempore conspiciunt et extraneis transeuntibus, reiLed the Red-Branch Knights to danger;—? que causas admirantibus, frequenter ostendunt."- "-Topogr. Hib. Dist. 2. c. 9. Ere the emerald gem of the western world 2 To make this story intelligible in a song, would require Was set in the crown of a nger. a much greater number of verses than any one is authorised to inflict upon an audience at once; the reader must there fore be content to learn, in a note, that Fionnuala, the 1 “This brought on an encounter between Malachi (the daughter of Lir, was, by some supernatural power, transformMonarch of Ireland in the tenth century) and the Danes, in ed into a swan, and condemned to wander, for many hundred which Malachi defeated two of their champions, whom he years, over certain lakes and rivers in Ireland, till the encountered successively hand to hand, taking a collar of coming of Christianity, when the first sound of the mass-bell gold from the neck of one, and carrying off the sword of the was to be the signal of her release.--I found this fanciful other, as trophies of his victory."-Warner's History of fiction among some manuscript translations from the Irish, Ireland, vol. i. book 9. which were begun under the direction of that enlightened 2 “Military orders of knights were very early established friend of Ireland, the late Countess of Moira. Your glass may be purple and mine may be blue, |Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou But, while they are filled from the same bright bowl, art, The fool who would quarrel for difference of hue Let thy loveliness fade as it will, Deserves not the comforts they shed o'er the soul. And around the dear ruin, each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still ! It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, If he kneel not before the same altar with me? That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known, From the heretic girl of my soul shall I fly, To which time will but make thee more dear! To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss? Oh! the heart that has truly loved, never forgets, No! perish the hearts and the laws that try But as truly loves on to the close, Truth, valour, or love, by a standard like this! As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turn'd when he rose ! west SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING. No. III. TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF Oh, Liberty ! let not this spirit have rest, DONEGAL. Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the WHILE the Publisher of these Melodies very proGive the light of your look to each sorrowing spot, perly inscribes them to the Nobility and Gentry of Nor, oh! be the Shamrock of Erin forgot, Ireland in general, I have much pleasure in selecting While you add to your garland the Olive of Spain ! one from that number to whom my share of the Work is particularly dedicated. Though your Ladyship has If the fame of our fathers bequeath'd with their rights, been so long absent from Ireland, I know that you Give to country its charm, and to home its delights, remember it well and warmly—that you have not If deceit be a wound and suspicion a stain- allowed the charm of English society, like the taste Then, ye men of Iberia! our cause is the same: of the lotus, to produce oblivion of your country, but And oh! may his tomb want a tear and a name, that even the humble tribute which I offer derives its Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death, chief claim upon your interest from the appeal which Than to turn his last sigh into victory's breath it makes to your patriotism. Indeed, absence, howFor the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain! ever fatal to some affections of the heart, rather strengthens our love for the land where we were Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resigned born; and Ireland is the country, of all others, which The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find an exile must remember with enthusiasm. Those few That repose which at home they had sigh'd for in darker and less amiable traits, with which bigotry vain, and misrule have stained her character, and which Join, join in our hope that the flame, which you light, are too apt to disgust us upon a nearer intercourse, May be felt yet in Erin, as calm and as bright, become softened at a distance, or altogether invisible; And forgive even Albion, while blushing she draws, and nothing is remembered but her virtues and her Like a truant, her sword, in the long-slighted cause misfortunes—the zeal with which she has always Of the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain! loved liberty, and the barbarous policy which has always withheld it from her-the ease with which God prosper the cause !-oh! it cannot but thrive, her generous spirit might be conciliated, and the cruel While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive, ingenuity which has been exerted to “wring her into Its devotion to feel, and its rights to maintain. undutifulness." Then how sainted by sorrow its martyrs will die! It has ofien been remarked, and oftener felt, that The finger of Glory shall point where they lie, our music is the truest of all comments upon our hisWhile, far from the footstep of coward or slave, tory. The tone of defiance, succeeded by the lanThe young Spirit of Freedom shall shelter their guor of despondency-a burst of turbulence dying grave, away into softness-the sorrows of one moment lost Beneath Shamrocks of Erin and Olives of Spain. in the levity of the next—and all that romantic mix ture of mirth and sadness, which is naturally pro duced by the efforts of a lively temperament, to shake BELIEVE ME, IF LL TIIOSE ENDEARING off, or forget, the wrongs which lie upon it:-such YOUNG CHARMS. are the features of our history and character, which Air-My Lodging is on the cold Ground. we find strongly and faithfully reflected in our music; BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms, and there are many airs which, I think, it is difficult Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, mond to the Earl of Ormond, in Elizabeth's time.-Scri 1 A phrase which occurs in a letter from the Earl of Des Like fairy gifts fading away! nia Sacra, as quoted by Curry. 1 |