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Like him, loo, Beauty won me
WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE.

But while her eyes were on me-
Air-Paddy Whack.

If once their ray
While History's Muse the memorial was keeping

Was turn'd away,
Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves,

Oh! winds could not outrun me.
Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping,
For hers was the story that blotted the leaves.

And are those follies going ?
But oh! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright,

And is my proud heart growing

Too cold or wise
When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame,

For brilliant eyes
She saw History write,
With a pencil of light

Again to set it glowing ?
That illumed all the volume, her WELLINGTON's

No-vain, alas! the endeavour

From bonds so sweet to sever ;name!

Poor Wisdom's chance “Hail, Star of my Isle !" said the Spirit, all sparkling

Against a glance With beams, such as break from her own dewy Is now as weak as ever!

skies ;“Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, I've watch'd for some glory like thine to arise.

WHERE IS THE SLAVE? For, though heroes I've number’d, unbless'd was their lot,

AIR--Sios agus sios liom.
And unhallow'd they sleep in the cross-ways of WHERE is the slave, so lowly,
Fame ;-

Condemn'd to chains unholy,
But, oh! there is not

Who, could he burst
One dishonouring blot

His bonds at first,
On the wreath that encircles my WELLINGTON'S Would pine beneath them slowly?
name!

What soul, whose wrongs degrade it,

Would wait till time decay'd it, “Yet, still the last crown of thy toils is remaining,

When thus its wing The grandest, the purest even thou hast yet known;

At once may spring Though proud was thy task, other nations unchaining,

To the throne of Him who made it? Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own.

Farewell, Erin !-farewell all
At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou hast

Who live to weep our fall!
stood,
Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame Less dear the laurel growing,
And, bright o'er the flood

Alive, untouch'd, and blowing,
Of her tears and her blood,

Than that whose braid
Let the rainbow of Hope be her WELLINGTON'S

Is pluck'd to shade
The brows with victory glowing !
We tread the land that bore us,

Her green flag glitters o'er us,
THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING.

The friends we've tried
Air-Peas upon a Trencher.

Are by our side,

And the foe we hate before us !
The time I've lost in wooing,

Farewell, Erin !-farewell all
In watching and pursuing

Who live to weep our fall!
The light that lies

In Woman's eyes,
Has been my heart's undoing.
Though Wisdom oft has sought me,

COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM.
I scorn'd the lore she brought me,

AIR-Lough Sheeling.
My only books

COME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer?
Were Woman's looks,

Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is And folly's all they've taught me.

still here;

Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast
Her smile when Beauty granted,

And the heart and the hand all thy own to the last !
I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him, the Sprite,'

Oh! what was love made for, if 't is not the same
Whom maids by night

Through joy and through torrents, through glory and Oft meet in glen that's haunted.

shame?

I know not, I ask not, if guilt 's in that heart, 1 This alludes to a kind of Irish Fairy, which is to be met

I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art ! with, they say, in the fields, at dusk :-as long as you keep your eyes upon him, he is fixed and in your power; but the moment you look away (and he is ingenious in furnishing Thou hast call’d me thy Angel in moments of bliss, some inducement) he vanishes. I had thought that this was And thy Angel I'll be, 'mid the horrors of this, the sprite which we call the Leprechaun; but a high Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps 9 purauthority upon such subjects, Lady Morgan in a note upon her national and interesting Novel, O'Donnel,) has given a

sue, very different account of that goblin.

And shield thee, and save thee, or-perish there too!

name!"

world;

"T IS GONE, AND FOR EVER.

FILL THE BUMPER FAIR.

AIR-Bob and Joan.
Air-Savournah Deelish.

Fill the bumper fair ! 'T is gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking,

Every drop we sprinkle Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the

O'er the brow of Care dead

Smooths away a wrinkle. When man, from the slumber of ages awaking,

Wit's electric flame Look'd upward, and bless'd the pure ray, ere it

Ne'er so swiftly passes, fled!

As when through the frame 'T is gone—and the gleams it has left of its burning

It shoots from brimming glasses. But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning,

Fill the bumper fair ! That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning,

Every drop we sprinkle And, darkest of all, hapless Erin ! o'er thee.

O'er the brow of Care, For high was thy hope, when those glories were

Smooths away a wrinkle. darting

Sages can, they say, Around thee, through all the gross clouds of the

Grasp the lightning's pinions,

And bring down its ray When Truth, from her fetters indignantly starting,

From the starr'd dominions :At once, like a sun-burst, her banner unfurl'd.

So we, sages, sit, Oh, never shall earth see a moment so splendid!

And, 'mid bumpers bright’ning, Then, then-had one Hymn of Deliverance blended

From the heaven of wit The tongues of all nations-how sweet had ascended

Draw down all its lightning! The first note of Liberty, Erin ! from thee.

Fill the bumper, etc. But, shame on those tyrants who envied the blessing!

Wouldst thou know what first And shame on the light race, unworthy its good,

Made our souls inherit Who, at Death's reeking altar, like furies, caressing

This ennobling thirst The young hope of Freedom, baptized it in blood !

For wine's celestial spirit ? Then vanish'd for ever that fair, sunny vision,

It chanced upon that day, Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's derision,

When, as bards inform us, Shall long be remember'd, pure, bright and elysian,

Prometheus stole away As first it arose, my lost Erin! on thee.

The living fires that warm us.

Fill the bumper, etc.

The careless Youth, when up
I SAW FROM THE BEACH.

To Glory's fount aspiring,

Took nor urn nor cup
Air-Miss Molly.

To hide the pilfer'd fire in :-
I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, But oh his joy! when, round,
A bark o'er the waters moved gloriously on;

The halls of heaven spying,
I came, when the sun o'er that beach was declining,

Amongst the stars he found The bark was still there, but the waters were gone!

A bowl of Bacchus lying.

Fill the bumper, etc.
Ah! such is the fate of our life's early promise,
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known:

Some drops were in that bowl,
Each wave, that we danced on at morning ebbs from

Remains of last night's pleasure, us,

With which the Sparks of soul And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone!

Mix'd their burning treasure !

Hence the goblet's shower Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning

Hath such spells to win usThe close of our day, the calm eve of our night;

Hence its mighty power
Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of

O'er that flame within us.
Morning,

Fill the bumper, etc.
Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best

light. Oh, who would not welcome that moment's return DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY ing,

AIR–New Langolee. When passion first waked a new life through his DEAR Harp of my Country! in darkness I found

frame, And his soul-like the wood that grows precious in The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long,' burning

1 In that rebellious but beautiful song, “When Erin first Gave out all its sweets to Love's exquisite flame !

rose," there is, if I recollect right, the following line:

“The dark chain of silence was thrown o'er the deep!” 1 “The Sun-burst" was the fanciful name given by the The chain of silence was a sort of practical figure of ancient Irish to the royal banner.

rhetoric among the ancient Irish. Walker tells us of "a

thee;

When proudly, my own Island Harp! I unbound

thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and

song! The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness

Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sad

ness, That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still. Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to thy numbers, This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall

twine; Go, sleep, with the sunshine of Fame on thy slum

bers, Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than

mine. If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,

Have throbb’d at our lay, 't is thy glory alone; I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,

And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own.

In tears our last farewell was taken,

And now in tears we meet again. No light of joy hath o'er thee broken,

But-like those harps, whose heavenly skill Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken

Thou hang'st upon the willows still. And yet, since last thy chord resounded,

An hour of peace and triumph came, And many an ardent bosom bounded,

With hopes--that now are turn’d to shame. Yet even then, while Peace was singing

Her halcyon song o'er land and sea, Though joy and hope to others bringing,

She only brought new tears to thee. Then who can ask for notes of pleasure,

My drooping harp! from chords like thine ? Alas, the lark's gay morning measure

As ill would suit the swan's decline!
Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee,

Invoke thy breath for Freedom's strains, When even the wreaths in which I dress thee,

Are sadly mix'd-half flowers, half chains ! But come—if yet thy frame can borrow

One breath of joy-oh, breathe for me,
And show the world, in chains and sorrow

How sweet thy music still can be ;
How gaily, even 'mid gloom surrounding,

Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrill
Like Memnon's broken image, sounding,

'Mid desolation, tuneful still !!

No. VII.

If I had consulted only my own judgment, this Work would not have been extended beyond the Six Numbers already published; which contain, perhaps, the flower of our National Melodies, and have attained a rank in public favour, of which I would not willingly risk the forfeiture by degenerating, in any way, from those merits that were its source. Whatever treasures of our music were still in reserve (and it will be seen, I trust, that they are numerous and valuable,) I would gladly have left to future poets to glean; and, with the ritual words "tibi trado," would have delivered up the torch into other hands, before it had lost much of its light in my own. But the call for a continuance of the work has been, as I understand from the Publisher, so general, and we have received so many contributions of old and beautiful airs,' the suppression of which, for the enhancement of those we have published, would resemble too much the policy of the Dutch in burning their spices, that I have been persuaded, though not without considerable diffidence in my success, to commence a new series of the Irish Melodies.

T. M.

AS SLOW OUR SHIP.

AIR—The Girl I left behind me. As slow our ship her foamy track

Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still look'd back

To that dear isle 't was leaving.
So loth we part from all we love,

From all the links that bind us ;
So turn our hearts, where'er we rove,

To those we've left behind us !
When round the bowl, of vanish'd years

We talk, with joyous seeming, With smiles, that might as well be tears,

So faint, so sad their beaming;
While memory brings us back again

Each early tie that twined us,
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then

To those we've left behind us !

MY GENTLE HARP!

AIRThe Coina or Dirge. My gentle Harp! once more I waken

The sweetness of thy slumbering strain; celebrated contention for precedence between Finn and Gaul, near Finn's palace at Almhaim, where the attending bards, anxious, if possible, to produce a cessation of hostili

the chain of siience, and flung themselves among the ranks." See also the Ode to Gaul, the son of Morni, in Miss BROOKE's Reliques of Irish Poetry.

1 One gentleman, in particular, whose name I shall feel happy in being allowed to mention, has not only sent us near forty ancient airs, but has communicated many curious fragments of Irish poetry, and some interesting traditions, current in the country where he resides, illustrated by sketches of the romantic scenery to which they refer; all of which, though too late for the present Number, will be of infinite service to us in the prosecution of our task.

ties, sho

And when, in other climes, we meet

Some isle or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet,

And nought but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss,

If Heaven had but assign'd us
To live and die in scenes like this,

With some we've left behind us !

1 Dimidio magicæ resonant ubi Memnone chordæ, Atque vetus Thebe centum jacet obruta portis.

Juvenal

As travellers oft look back, at eve,

When eastward darkly going, To gaze upon that light they leave

Still faint behind them glowing So, when the close of pleasure's day

To gloom hath near consign'd us, We turn to catch one fading ray

Of joy that's left behind us.

And though sometimes the shade of past folly would

rise, And though Falsehood again would allure him to

stray, He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes,

And the folly, the falsehood soon vanished away. As the Priests of the Sun, when their altar grew dim,

At the day-beam alone could its lustre repair, So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him,

He but flew to that smile, and rekindled it there.

IN THE MORNING OF LIFE.
AIR-The little Harvest Rose.

REMEMBER THEE!
In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown,

Air-Castle Tirowen. And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin,

REMEMBER thee! When we live in a bright beaming world of our own,

yes, while there's life in this heart, And the light that surrounds us is all from within : It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art ; Oh, it is not, believe me, in that happy time

More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers, We can love as in hours of less transport we may

Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours. Of our smiles, of our hopes, 't is the gay sunny prime, Wert thou all that I wish thee,-great, glorious, and But affection is warmest when these fade away.

free

First flower of the earth and first gem of the sea, When we see the first glory of youth pass us by,

I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow, Like a leaf on the stream that will never return;

But, oh! could I love thee more deeply than now ? When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high,

No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs, First tastes of the other, the dark-flowing urn; But make thee more painfully dear to thy sonsThen, then is the moment affection can sway Whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird's nest,

With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew; Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy Love nursed among pleasures is faithless as they,

breast ! But the Love born of sorrow, like sorrow, is true !

In climes full of sun-shine, though splendid their dyes,

Yet faint is the odour the flowers shed about ;
Tis the clouds and the mists of our own weeping

skies
That call the full spirit of fragrancy out.
So the wild glow of passion may kindle from mirth,

But 't is only in grief true affection appears ;-
And, even though to smiles it may first owe its birth,

All the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears.

WREATH THE BOWL

AIR-Noran Kista.
WREATH the bowl

With flowers of soul,
The brightest wit can find us ;

We'll take a flight

Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us !

Should Love amid

The wreaths be hid
That Joy, the enchanter, brings us,

No danger fear,

While wine is near,
We'll drown him if he stings us.

Then wreath the bowl

With flowers of soul,
The brightest wit can find us;

We'll take a flight

Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us !

WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH.

AIR-Limerick's Lamentation.
WHEN cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast

loved,
Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then;
Or, if from their slumber the veil be removed,

Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again.
And, oh! if 't is pain to remember how far
From the pathways of light he was tempted to

roam,
Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star

That arose on his darkness and guided him home. From thee and thy innocent beauty first came

The revealinys, that taught him true Love to adore, To feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame

From the idols he blindly had knelt to before. O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild,

Thou camest, like a soft golden calm o'er the sea; And, if happiness purely and glowingly smiled

On his evening horizon, the light was from thee.

'Twas nectar fed

Of old, 't is said,
Their Junos, Joves, Apollos ;

And man may brew

His nectar too,
The rich receipt 's as follows:

Take wine like this,

Let looks of bliss
Around it well be blended,

Then bring wit's beam

To warm the stream,
And there's your nectar splendid!

So, wreath the bowl

With flowers of soul, The brightest wit can find us ;

We'll take a flight

Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us !

Shall keep our hearts-like meads, that lie
To be bathed by those eternal rills-

Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love! All this and more the Spirit of Love

Can breathe o'er them who feel his spells; That heaven, which forms his home above, He can make on earth, wherever he dwells,

And he will—if thou wilt be mine, love!

Say, why did Time

His glass sublime
Fill up with sands unsightly

When wine, he knew,

Runs brisker through, And sparkles far more brightly!

Oh, lend it us,

And, smiling thus,
The glass in two we'd sever,

Make pleasure glide

In double tide,
And fill both ends for ever!

Then wreath the bowl

With flowers of soul, The brightest wit can find us !

We'll take a flight

Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us!

TO LADIES' EYES.

AIR—Fague a Ballagh. To ladies' eyes a round, boy,

We can't refuse, we can't refuse, Though bright eyes so abound, boy,

'T is hard to chuse, 't is hard to chuse. For thick as stars that lighten

Yon airy bowers, yon airy bowers, The countless eyes that brighten

This earth of ours, this earth of ours. But fill the cup—where'er, boy,

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're sure to find Love there, boy,

So drink them all! so drink them all!

WHENE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES.

AIR-Father Quin.
WHENE'ER I see those smiling eyes,

All fill’d with hope, and joy, and light,
As if no cloud could ever rise,

To dim a heaven so purely bright-
I sigh to think how soon that brow

In grief may lose its every ray,
And that light heart, so joyous now,

Almost forget it once was gay.
For Time will come with all his blights,

The ruin'd hope—the friend unkind-
The love that leaves, where'er it lights,

A chill'd or burning heart behind !
While youth, that now like snow appears,

Ere sullied by the darkening rain,
When once 't is touch'd by sorrow's tears,

Will never shine so bright again!

Some looks there are so holy,

They seem but given, they seem but given. As splendid beacons solely,

To light to heaven, to light to heaven. While some-oh! ne'er believe them,

With tempting ray, with tempting ray, Would lead us (God forgive them !)

The other way, the other way. But fill the cup—where'er, boy,

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're sure to find Love there, boy,

So drink them all! so drink them all!

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In some, as in a mirror,

Love seems portray'd, Love seems portray'd But shun the flattering error,

'Tis but his shade, 't is but his shade. Himself has fix'd his dwelling

In eyes we know, in eyes we know, And lips—but this is telling,

So here they go! so here they go ! Fill up, fill up—where'er, boy,

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're sure to find Love there, boy,

So drink them all! so drink them all!

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IF THOU'LT BE MINE.

AIR—The Winnowing Sheet. IF thou 'lt be mine, the treasures of air,

Of earth and sea, shall lie at thy feet; Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair, Or in Hope's sweet music is most sweet,

Shall be ours, if thou wilt be mine, love!

Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove,

A voice divine shall talk in each stream, The stars shall look like worlds of love, And this earth be all one beautiful dream

In our eyes—if thou wilt be mine, love! And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high,

Like streams that come from heavenward hills,

FORGET NOT THE FIELD.

Air—The Lamentation of Aughrim.
Forget not the field where they perish'd,

The truest, the last of the brave,
All gone and the bright hope they cherish'd

Gone with them, and quench'd in their grave! Oh! could we from death but recover

Those hearts, as they bounded before, In the face of high Heaven to fight over

That combat for freedom once more ;

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