Fame; Like him, loo, Beauty won me But while her eyes were on me- If once their ray Was turn'd away, Oh! winds could not outrun me. And are those follies going? And is my proud heart growing Too cold or wise For brilliant eyes Again to set it glowing ? No-vain, alas! the endeavour That illumed all the volume, her WELLINGTON'S 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, Condemn'd to chains unholy, Who, could he burst His bonds at first, 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 Who live to weep our fall! Alive, untouch'd, and blowing, Than that whose braid Is pluck'd to shade The brows with victory glowing ! Her green flag glitters o'er us, The friends we've tried Are by our side, And the foe we hate before us ! Farewell, Erin !—farewell all Who live to weep our fall! COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM. AIR-Lough Sheeling. COME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer? 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 Thou hast call'd me thy Angel in moments of bliss, moment you look away (and he is ingenious in furnishing 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 pure authority 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! 'T IS GONE, AND FOR EVER. FILL THE BUMPER FAIR. AIR~Bob and Joan. 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, world; 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.1 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! Fill the bumper, etc. Made our souls inherit 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 To Glory's fount aspiring, Took nor urn nor cup To hide the pilfer'd fire in :- The halls of heaven spying, Amongst the stars he found The bark was still there, but the waters were gone! A bowl of Bacchus lying. Fill the bumper, etc. Some drops were in that bowl, 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 Hath such spells to win us- O'er that flame within us. Fill the bumper, etc. 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 firs 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; 1 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! 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, How sweet thy music still can be; 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. From all the links that bind us ; To those we've left behind us ! We talk, with joyous seeming, With smiles, that might as well be tears, So faint, so sad their beaming; Each early tie that twined us, To those we've left behind us ! MY GENTLE HARP! AIR—The 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 hostilities, shook 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. And when, in other climes, we meet Some isle or vale enchanting, And nought but love is wanting; If Heaven had but assign'd us 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. REMEMBER THEE! Air-Castle Tirowen. And the light that surrounds us is all from within : It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art; 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 rmest 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 ! WREATH THE BOWL AIR-Noran Kista. WREATH the bowl skies That call the full spirit of fragrancy out. With flowers of soul, So the wild glow of passion may kindle from mirth, The brightest wit can find us ; But 't is only in grief true affection appears ; We'll take a flight And, even though to smiles it may first owe its birth, Towards heaven to-night, All the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears. And leave dull earth behind us ! Should Love amid The wreaths be hid No danger fear, While wine is near, We'll drown him if he stings us. Then wreath the bowl loved, With flowers of soul, Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then; The brightest wit can find us; Or, if from their slumber the veil be removed, We'll take a flight Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again. Towards heaven to-night, And, oh! if 't is pain to remember how far And leave dull earth behind us ! From the pathways of light he was tempted to "T was nectar fed roam, Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star Of old, 't is said, That arose on luis darkness and guided him home. Their Junos, Joves, Apollos; And man may brew His nectar too, Take wine like this, Let looks of bliss O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild, Around it well be blended, Thou camest, like a soft golden calm o'er the sea; Then bring wit's beam To warm the stream, 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! Say, why did Time Runs brisker through, And sparkles far more brightly! Oh, lend it us, And, smiling thus, The glass in two we'd sever, 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! WHENE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES. AIR-Father Quin. WHENE'ER I see those smiling eyes, To dim a heaven so purely bright- 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 unkindThe 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! IF THOU 'LT BE MINE. If thou 'It be mine, the treasures of air, Or in Hope's sweet music is most sweet, Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove, In our eyes-if thou wilt be mine, love! And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high, Like streams that come from heavenward hills, Shall keep our hearts-like meads, that lie Can breathe o'er them who feel his spells; TO LADIES' EYES. To ladies' eyes a round, boy, 'Tis 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. Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, So drink them all! so drink them all! Some looks there are so holy, They seem but given, they seem but given. To light to heaven, to light to heaven. Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, So drink them all! so drink them all! 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, So here they go! so here they go ! Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, So drink them all! so drink them all! 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; |