Could the chain for an instant be riven When, arm'd for Right, they stood, sublime, Which Tyranny flung round us then, And tyrants crouch'd before them! Oh! 't is not in Man nor in Heaven, When pure yet, ere courts began To let Tyranny bind it again! With honours to enlave him, The best honours worn by Man But t is past—and, though blazon'd in story Were those which Virtue gave him. The name of our Victor may be, Oh for the swords of former time! Accursed is the march of that glory Oh for the men who bore them, Which treads o'er the hearts of the free. When, arm’d for Right, they stood sublime, Far dearer the grave or the prison, And tyrants crouch'd before them! Oh for the kings who flourish'd then! Oh for the pomp that crown'd them, Were all the ramparts round them! When, safe built on bosoms true, The throne was but the centre, Round which Love a circle drew, That Treason durst not enter. I've found it a life full of kindness and bliss ; On for the kings who flourish'd then! And, until they can show me some happier planet, Oh for the pomp that crown'd them, More social and bright, I 'll content me with this When hearts and hands of freeborn men Were all the ramparts round them! No. VIII. New sunshine and wit from the fountain on high, Though the nymphs may have livelier poets to sing NE'ER ASK THE HOUR. them, AIR—My Husband's a Journey to Portugal gone. They've none, even there, more enamour'd than I. NE'ER ask the hour-what is it to us And, as long as this harp can be waken'd to love, How Time deals out his treasures? And that eye its divine inspiration shall be, The golden moments lent us thus They may talk as they will of their Edens above, Are not his coin, but Pleasure's. But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me. If counting them over could add to their blisses, In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendour, I'd number each glorious second ; At twilight so often we've roam'd through the dew, But moments of joy are, like Lesbia's kisses, There are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as Too quick and sweet to be reckon'd. tender, Then fill the cup—what is it to us And look, in their twilights, as lovely as you. How Time his circle measures ? But, though they were even more bright than the queen The fairy hours we call up thus Obey no wand but Pleasure's ! Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours, Till Care, one summer's morning, Where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare, A dial, by way of warning. Than to watch with old Care how the shadow stole on, Oh! think what a world we should have of it here, And how fast that light was going. If the haters of peace, of affection, and glee, So fill the cup-what is it to us Were to fly up to Saturn's comfortless sphere, How Time his circle measures ? And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and me. The fairy hours we call up thus Obey no wand but Pleasure's. 1 OH FOR THE SWORDS OF FORMER TIME! Air-Name Unknown. Oh for the swords of former time! Oh for the men who bore them, 1 Tous les Habitans de Mercure sont vifs.-Pluralité des Mondes. 2 La Terre pourra être pour Vénus l'étoile du berger et sa mère des amours, comme Vénus l'est pour nous.-Io. SAIL ON, SAIL ON. AIR-The Humming of the Ban. Wherever blows the welcome wind, More sad, than those we leave behind THE PARALLEL. AIR-I would rather than Ireland. YES, sad one of Sion,'-if closely resembling, In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd-up heartIf drinking, deep, deep, of the same "cup of trembling" Could make us thy children, our parent thou art. Like thee doth our nation lie conquer'd and broken, Like thine doth the exile, 'mid dreams of returning, 913 Ah, well may we call her, like thee, "the Forsaken," Her boldest are vanquish'd, her proudest are slaves; And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken, DRINK OF THIS CUP. DRINK of this cup-you'll find there's a spell in But would you rise above earth, till akin To immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it. Send round the cup-for oh! there's a spell in Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. Never was philtre form'd with such power To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing! Its magic began, when, in Autumn's rich hour, As a harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing. There, having, by Nature's enchantment been fill'd With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest Have breathings as sad as the wind over graves! Yet hadst thou thy vengeance-yet came there the morrow, That shines out at last on the longest dark night, When the sceptre that smote thee with slavery and sorrow Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight. When that cup, which for others the proud Golden City 4 Had brimm'd full of bitterness, drench'd her own lips, And the world she had trampled on heard, without pity, The howl in her halls and the cry from her ships. When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty came over Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust, 1 These verses were written after the perusal of a treatise by Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that the Irish were originally Jews. 2 "Her sun is gone down while it was yet day."-Jer. xv. 9. 3"Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken."-Isaiah, lxii. 4. 4 "How hath the oppressor ceased! the Golden City ceased."-Isaiah, xiv. 4. 5 "Thy pomp is brought down to the grave-and the worms cover thee."-Isaiah, xiv. 11. 6 "Thou shalt no more be called the Lady of Kingdoms." -Isaiah, xlvii. 5. And though, perhaps-but breathe it to no one- In secret this philtre was first taught to flow on, less and hidden. So drink of the cup-for oh! there's a spell in THE FORTUNE-TELLER. As ever 't was told, by the new moon's light, But, for the world, let no one be nigh, Lest haply the stars should deceive me; If at that hour the heavens be not dim, a Then to the phantom be thou but kind, And round you so fondly he'll hover, You 'll hardly, my dear, any difference find 'Twixt him and a true living lover. Down at your feet, in the pale moon-light, He'll kneel, with a warmth of emotionAn ardour, of which such an innocent sprite You'd scarcely believe had a notion. What other thoughts and events may arise, As in Destiny's book I've not seen them, Must only be left to the stars and your eyes To settle, ere morning, between them. That youth who beneath the blue lake lies, Sweet May, sweet May, returns to me. Fair lake, fair lake, thou 'rt dear to me; Who dwells, who dwells, bright lake, in thee. White steed, white steed, most joy to thee, Proud steed, proud steed, my love to me. Fair steed, fair steed, as white and free; Fair steed, around my love and thee. Most sweet, most sweet, that death will be, Dear love, dear love, I'll die for thee. OH, YE DEAD. AIR-Plough Tune. light you give like men who live, In far off fields and waves, To haunt this spot where all Those eyes that wept your fall, dead! It is true-it is true-we are shadows cold and wan; ECHO. AIR—The Wren. How sweet the answer Echo makes To Music at night, When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, And far away, o'er lawns and lakes, Goes answering light. more! Yet Love hath echoes truer far, And far more sweet, Than e'er, beneath the moon-light's star, Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar, The songs repeat. 'Tis when the sigh in youth sincere, In light-link'd dance their circles run, And only then,- Is by that one, that only dear, Breathed back again! 1 Paul Zeland mentions that there is a mountain in some part of Ireland, where the ghosts of persons who have died in foreign lands walk about and converse with those they meet, like living people. If asked why they do not return to OH! BANQUET NOT. their homes, they say they are obliged to go to Mount Hecla, and disappear immediately. Air—Planxty Irwine. 2 The particulars of the traditions respecting O'Donohue Oh! banquet not in those shining bowers and his white horse, may be found in Mr. Weld's Account Where youth resorts—but come to me, of Killarney, or more fully detailed in Derrick's Letters. For many years after his death, the spirit of this hero is sup- For mine 's a garden of faded flowers, posed to have been seen, on the morning of May-day, More fit for sorrow, and thee. gliding over the lake on his favourite white horse, to the sound of sweet, unearthly music, and preceded by groups And there we shall have our feast of tearsof youths and maidens, who flung wreaths of delicate spring- And many a cup in silence pourflowers in his path. Our guests, the shades of former years Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more. whose imagination was so impressed with the idea of this visionary chieftain, that she fancied herself in love with him, 3 The boatmen at Killarney call those waves which como and at last, in a fit of insanity, on a May-morning, threw on a windy day, crested with foam, “O'Donohue's white kerself into the lake. horses." for age, source come near There, while the myrtle's withering boughs Oh, who that loves Erin-or who that can see, Through the waste of her annals, that epoch subWe'll brim the bowl to broken vows, limeTo friends long lost, the changed, the dead. Like a pyramid raised in the desert—where he Or, as some blighted laurel waves And his glory stand out to the eyes of all time ! Its branches o'er the dreary spot, We'll drink to those neglected graves That one lucid interval snatch'd from the gloom Where valour sleeps, unnamed, forgot! And the madness of ages, when, fill'd with his soul, A nation o'erleap'd the dark bounds of her doom, And, for one sacred instant, touch'd liberty's goal! Who, that ever hath heard him-hath drank at the Of that wonderful eloquence, all Erin's own, In whose high-thoughted daring, the fire, and the The night's long hours still find me thinking force, Of thee, thee, only thee. And the yet untamed spring of her spirit are shown. When friends are met, and goblets crown'd, An eloquence, rich—wheresoever it wave And smiles are near that once enchanted, Wander'd free and triumphant, with thoughts that Unreach'd by all that sunshine round, shone through My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted As clear as the brook's “stone of lustre," and gave, By thee, thee, only thee. With the flash of the gem, its solidity too. Whatever in fame's high path could waken Who, that ever approach'd him, when, free from the My spirit once, is now forsaken crowd, For thee, thee, only thee. In a home full of love, he delighted to tread Like shores, by which some headlong bark 'Mong the trees which a nation had given, and which To the ocean hurries-resting never bow'd, Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark, As if each brought a new civic crown for his headI know not, heed not, hastening ever To thee, thee, only thee. That home, where— like him who, as fable hath told,' Put the rays from his brow, that his child might Every glory forgot, the most wise of the old Became all that the simplest and youngest hold dear. Like spells that nought on earth can break, Till lips that know the charm have spoken, Is there one who has thus, through his orbit of life, This heart, howe'er the world may wake But at distance observed him—through glory, Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken through blame, By thee, thee, only thee. In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife, Whether shining or clouded, still high and the same. Such a union of all that enriches life's hour, Of the sweetness we love and the greatness we SHALL THE HARP THEN BE SILENT? praise, Air-Macfarlane's Lamentation. As that type of simplicity blended with power, SHALL the Harp then be silent when he, who first A child with a thunderbolt, only portrays. gave To our country a name, is withdrawn from all eyes ? Oh no—not a heart that e'er knew him but mourns, Shall a minstrel of Erin stand mute by the grave, Deep, deep, o'er the grave where such glory is shrined Where the first, where the last of her patriots lies ?' O'er a monument Fame will preserve 'mong the urns No-faint though the death-song may fall from his Of the wisest, the bravest, the best of mankind! lips, Though his harp, like his soul, may with shadows be cross'd, OH, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING. Air-Planxty Sudley. Oh, the sight entrancing, When morning's beam is glancing What a union of all the affections and powers, O'er files, array'd By which life is exalted, embellish'd, refined, With helm and blade, Was embraced in that spirit—whose centre was ours, And plumes in the gay wind dancing! While its mighty circumference circled mankind. When hearts are all high beating, And the trumpet's voice repeating 1 The celebrated Irish orator and patriot, GRATTAN.Editor. 2 It is only these two first verses, that are either fitted or 1 Apollo, in his interview with Phaëton, as described by intended to be sung. Ovid:"Deposuit radios propiusque accedere jussit.” a 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, 'Tis heaven's own glance, when it appears Like feeling hearts, whose joys are few, But, when indeed they come, divineThe steadiest light the sun e'er threw Is lifeless to one gleam of thine! That song whose breath May lead to death, O'er files, array'd With helm and blade, And plumes in the gay wind dancing. Yet 't is not helm or featherFor ask yon despot whether His plumed bands Could bring such hands And hearts as ours together. Leave pomps to those who need 'emAdorn but Man with freedom, And proud he braves The gaudiest slaves That crawl where monarchs lead 'em. The sword may pierce the beaver, Stone walls in time may sever; 'Tis heart alone, Worth steel and stone, O'er files, array'd With helm and blade, 'T WAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS. AIR—The song of the Woods. 'Twas one of those dreams that by music are brought, Like a light summer haze, o'er the poet's warm thoughtWhen, lost in the future, his soul wanders on, And all of this life, but its sweetness, is gone. The wild notes he heard o'er the water were those To which he had sung Erin's bondage and woes, And the breath of the bugle now wafted them o'er From Dinis' green isle to Glena's wooded shore. He listen'd-while high o'er the eagle's rude nest, The lingering sounds on their way loved to rest; And the echoes sung back from their full mountain quire, As if loth to let song so enchanting expire. It seem'd as if every sweet note that died here Was again brought to life in some airier sphere, Some heaven in those hills where the soul of the strain, That had ceased upon earth, was awaking again! Oh forgive if, while listening to music, whose breath Seem'd to circle his name with a charm against death, He should feel a proud spirit within him proclaim“Even so shalt thou live in the echoes of Fame : “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 NO. IX. SWEET INNISFALLEN. Air-The Captivating Youth. SWEET Innisfallen, fare thee well, May calm and sunshine 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 ! song!” 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 FAIREST! PUT ON AWHILE. AIR-Cummilum. 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, Of the warm Summer's gaze, With but her tears to guard her. |