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Rocks, through myrtle boughs,

When a cup or a lip shall woo thee,
In grace majestic frowning-

And turn untouch'd away!
Like some warrior's brows,

Then, quick! we have but a second,
That Love hath just been crowning.

Fill round, fill round, while you may ;

For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd,
Islets so freshly fair

And we must away, away!
That never hath bird come nigh them,
But, from his course through air,

Hath been won downward by them,
Types, sweet maid, of thee,

AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS
Whose look, whose blush inviting,

AIR- Unknown.
Never did Love yet see
From heaven, without alighting.

And doth not a meeting like this make amends

For all the long years I've been wandering away? Lakes where the pearl lies hid,?

To see thus around me my youth's early friends, And caves where the diamond 's sleeping,

As smiling and kind as in that happy day! Bright as the gems that lid

Though haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine, Of thine lets fall in weeping.

The snow-fall of time may be stealing-what then? Glens,' where Ocean comes,

Like Alps in the sun-set, thus lighted by wine,
To 'scape the wild wind's rancour,

We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again. And harbours, worthiest homes

What soften'd remembrances come o'er the heart, Where Freedom's sails could anchor.

In gazing on those we've been lost to so long! Then if, while scenes so grand,

The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part,

Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng.
So beautiful, shine before thee,
Pride for thy own dear land

As letters some hand hath invisibly traced,
Should haply be stealing o'er thee,

When held to the flame will steal out on the sight, Oh, let grief come first,

So many a feeling, that long seem'd effaced,
O'er pride itself victorious-

The warmth of a meeting like this brings to light. To think how man hath curst

And thus, in Memory's bark we shall glide
What Heaven had made so glorious !

To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew-
Though oft we may see, looking down on the tide,

The wreck of full many a hope shining through

Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers, QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND.

That once made a garden of all the gay shore,

Deceived for a moment, we'll think them still ours, Air-Paddy Snap.

And breathe the fresh air of Life's morning once Quick! we have but a second,

more.
Fill round the cup, while you may,
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd,

So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most,
And we must away, away!

Is all we can have of the few we hold dear;
Grasp the pleasure that 's flying,

And oft even joy is unheeded and lost,
For oh! not Orpheus' strain

For want of some heart, that could echo it, near. Could keep sweet hours from dying,

Ah, well may we hope, when this short life is gone, Or charm them to life again.

To meet in some world of more permanent bliss; Then quick ! we have but a second,

For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hastening on,
Fill round, fill round, while you may;

Is all we enjoy of each other in this.?
For Time, the churl, hath beckonid,
And we must away, away!

But come—the more rare such delights to the heart,
The more we should welcome, and bless them the

more:
See the glass, how its flushes,
Like some young Hebe's lip,

They're ours when we meet—they are lost when we And half meets thine, and blushes

part, That thou shouldst delay to sip.

Like birds that bring summer, and fly when 't is

o'er. Shame, oh shame unto thee, If ever thou seest the day,

1 Jours charmans, quand je songe à vos heureux instans,

Je pense remonter le fleuve de mes ans; 1 In describing the Skeligs (islands of the Barony of Et mon cœur enchanté sur sa rive fleurie, Forth) Dr. Keating says, "there is a certain attractive virtue Respire encore l'air pur du matin de la vie. in the soil, which draws down all the birds that attempt to 2 The same thought has been happily expressed by my fly over it, and obliges them to light upon the rock." friend, Mr. Washington Irving, in his Bracebridge Hall,

2 “Nennius, a British writer of the 9th century, mentions vol. i. p. 213. The pleasure which I feel in calling this genthe abundance of pearls in Ireland. Their princes, he says, tleman my friend, is enhanced by the reflection that he is hung them behind their ears, and this we find confirmed by too good an American to have admitted me so readily to a present made a. C. 1094, by Gilbert, Bishop of Limerick, to such a distinction, if he had not known that my feelings toAnselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, of a considerable wards the great and free country that gave him birth have quantity of Irish pearls."-O'Halloran.

long been such as every real lover of the liberty and happi 3 Glengarifl.

ness of the human race must entertain.

Thus circling the cup, hand in hanå, ere we drink, Let sympathy pledge us, through pleasure, through

pain, That fast as a feeling but touches one link,

Her magic shall send it direct through the chain.

Alas for her who sits and mourns,

Even now beside that riverUnwearied still the fiend returns,

And stored is still his quiver. “When will this end ? ye Powers of Good !"

She weeping asks for ever;
But only hears, from out that flood,

The demon answer, “Never !"

THE SPRITE.

Air-The Mountain Sprite. In yonder valley there dwelt, alone, A youth, whose life all had calmly flown, Till spells came o'er him, and, day and night, He was haunted and watch'd by a Mountain Sprite. As he, by moonlight, went wandering o'er The golden sands of that island shore, A foot-print sparkled before his sight, 'Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite. Beside a fountain, one sunny day, As, looking down on the stream, he lay, Behind him stole two eyes of light, And he saw in the clear wave the Mountain Sprite.

DESMOND'S SONG."

AIR-Unknown.? By the Feal's wave benighted,

Not a star in the skies,
To thy door by Love lighted,

I first saw those eyes.
Some voice whisper'd o'er me,

As the threshold I cross'd, There was ruin before me,

If I loved, I was lost. Love

came, and brought sorrow Too soon in his train; Yet so sweet, that to-morrow

'Twould be welcome again. Were misery's full measure

Pour'd out to me now, I would drain it with pleasure,

So the Hebe were thou.

He turn'd—but lo, like a startled bird,
The Spirit fled—and he only heard
Sweet music, such as marks the flight
Of a journeying star, from the Mountain Sprite.
One night, pursued by that dazzling look,
The youth, bewilder’d, his pencil took,
And, guided only by memory's light,
Drew the fairy form of the Mountain Sprite,
“Oh thou, who lovest the shadow,” cried,
A gentle voice, whispering by his side,
“Now turn and see,”—here the youth's delight
Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite
“Of all the Spirits of land and sea,”
Exclaim'd he then, “there is none like thee;
And oft, oh oft, may thy shape alight
In this lonely arbour, sweet Mountain Sprite."

You who call it dishonour

To bow to this flame, If you ’ve eyes, look but on her,

And blush while you blame. Hath the pearl less whiteness

Because of its birth ?
Hath the violet less brightness

For growing near earth?
No-Man, for his glory,

To history flies;
While Woman's bright story

Is told in her eyes.
While the monarch but traces

Through mortals his line,
Beauty, born of the Graces,

Ranks next to divine !

AS VANQUISH'D ERIN.

AIR— The Boyne Water.
As vanquish'd Erin wept beside

The Boyne's ill-fated river,
She saw where Discord, in the tide,

Had dropp'd his loaded quiver.
Lie hid,” she cried, “ye venom'd darts,
Where mortal eye may

shun

you; Lie hid–for oh! the stain of hearts

That bled for me is on you.”

THEY KNOW NOT MY HEART.

AIR-Coolon Das. They know not my heart, who believe there can be One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee;

But vain her wish, her weeping vain

As Time too well hath taught her :
Each year the fiend returns again,

And dives into that water :
And brings triumphant, from beneath,

His shafts of desolation,
And sends them, wing'd with worse than death,

Throughout her maddening nation.

1 "Thomas, the heir of the Desmond family, had accidentally been so engaged in the chace, that he was benight. ed near Tralee, and obliged to take shelter at the Abbey of Feal, in the house of one of his dependents, called Mac Čormac. Catherine, a beautiful daughter of his host, instantly inspired the Earl with a violent passion, which he could not subdue. He married her, and by this inferior alliance alienated his followers, whose brutal pride regarded this indulgence of his love as an unpardonable degradation of his family.”- Leland, vol. 2.

2 This air bas been already so successfully supplied with words by Mr. Bayly, that I should have left it untouched, if we could have spared so interesting a melody out of our collection.

morrow

To meet was a heaven, and to part thus another, The bell of his cap rung merrily out;
Our joy and our sorrow seem'd rivals in bliss;

While Reason took
Oh! Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other

To his sermon-book-
In smiles and in tears, than that moment to this. Oh! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt.
The first was like day-break-new, sudden, delicious, Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage,

The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet- Turn’d for a moment to Reason's dull page,
The last was that farewell of daylight, more precious, Till Folly said,
More glowing and deep, as 't is nearer its set.

“Look here, sweet maid !"Our meeting, though happy, was tinged by a sorrow The sight of his cap brought her back to herself; To think that such happiness could not remain;

While Reason read While our parting, though sad, gave a hope that to

His leaves of lead,

With no one to mind him, poor sensible elf! Would bring back the blest hour of meeting again. Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap;

Had he that on, he her heart might entrap

“There it is,”
THOSE EVENING BELLS.

Quoth Folly, “old quiz!"
Air-The Bells of St. Petersburgh.

But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly wore,

That Beauty now liked him still less than before; THOSE evening bells ! those evening bells !

While Folly took How many a tale their music tells,

Old Reason's book, Of youth, and home, and that sweet time,

And twisted the leaves in a cap of such Ton, When last I heard their soothing chime !

That Beauty vow'd Those joyous hours are past away!

(Though not aloud,) And many a heart that then was gay,

She liked him still better in that than his own!
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells !
And so 't will be when I am gone;

FARE THEE WELL, THOU LOVELY ONE' That tuneful peal will still ring on,

Sicilian Air. While other bards shall walk these dells,

FARE thee well, thou lovely one!
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells !

Lovely still, but dear no more;
Once his soul of truth is gone,

Love's sweet life is o'er.
SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES.

Thy words, whate'er their flattering spell,
Portuguese Air.

Could scarce have thus deceived ;

But eyes that acted truth so well "Should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee,

Were sure to be believed. Which now so sweetly thy heart employ;

Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one! Should the cold world come to wake thee

Lovely still, but dear no more; From all thy visions of youth and joy;

Once his soul of truth is gone,
Should the gay friends for whom thou wouldst banish

Love's sweet life is o'er.
Him who once thought thy young heart his own,
All like spring birds, falsely vanish,

Yet those eyes look constant still,
And leave thy winter unheeded and lone ;-

True as stars they keep their light;

Still those cheeks their pledge fulfil Oh! 't is then he thou hast slighted

Of blushing always bright. Would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd o'er;

'Tis only on thy changeful heart Then the truant, lost and blighted,

The blame of falsehood lies; Would to his bosom be taken once more.

Love lives in every other part, Like that dear bird we both can remember,

But there, alas! he dies. Who left us while summer shone round,

Then fare thee well, thou lovely one! But, when chill'd by bleak December,

Lovely still, but dear no more; Upon our threshold a welcome still found.

Once his soul of truth is

gone, Love's sweet life is o'er.

REASON, FOLLY, AND BEAUTY.
Italian Air.

DOST THOU REMEMBER.
Reason, Folly, and Beauty, they say,

Portuguese Air.
Went on a party of pleasure one day:

Dost thou remember that place so lonely
Folly play'd

A place for lovers and lovers only,
Around the maid,

Where first I told thee all my secret sighs ?

When as the moon-beam, that trembled o'er thee, 1 The metre of the words is here necessarily sacrificed to Illumed thy blushes, I knelt before thee, the air.

And read my hope's sweet triumph in those eyes.

NATIONAL AIRS.

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ADVERTISEMENT.

FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER

Portuguese Air. It is Cicero, I believe, who says

natura ad mo

Flow on, thou shining river; dos ducimur ;” and the abundance of wild indigenous

But, ere thou reach the sea, airs, which almost every country except England

Seek Ella's bower, and give her possesses, sufficiently proves the truth of his asser

The wreaths I fling o'er thee. tion. The lovers of this simple but interesting kind

And tell her thus, if she'll be mine, of music are here presented with the first number of

The current of our lives shall be, a collection, which I trust their contributions will With joys along their course to shine, enable us to continue. A pretty air without words

Like those sweet flowers on thee. resembles one of those half creatures of Plato, which

But if, in wandering thither, are described as wandering, in search of the remain

Thou find'st she mocks my prayer, der of themselves, through the world. To supply

Then leave those wreaths to wither this other half, by uniting with congenial words the

Upon the cold bank there. many fugitive melodies which have hitherto had none,

And tell her—thus, when youth is o'er, or only such as are unintelligible to the generality of

Her lone and loveless charms shall be their hearers, is the object and ambition of the pre

Thrown by upon life's weedy shore, sent work. Neither is it our intention to confine

Like those sweet flowers from thee. ourselves to what are strictly called National Melodies, but, wherever we meet with any wandering and beautiful air, to which poetry has not yet assigned a

ALL THAT'S BRIGHT MUST FADE. worthy home, we shall venture to claim it as an estray swan, and enrich our humble Hippocrene with its

Indian Air. song.

ALL that's bright must fade,

The brightest still the fleetest;
T. M.

All that's sweet was made

But to be lost when sweetest.

Stars that shine and fall ;-
NATIONAL AIRS.

The flower that drops in springing ;

These, alas! are types of all
No. I.

To which our hearts are clinging
All that's bright must fade,-

The brightest still the fleetest ;
A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP.

All that 's sweet was made

But to be lost when sweetest! Spanish Air. “ A TEMPLE to Friendship,” said Laura, enchanted,

Who would seek or prize “I'll build in this garden—the thought is divine !" Delights that end in aching? Her temple was built, and she now only wanted

Who would trust to ties An image of friendship to place on the shrine.

That every hour are breaking ? She flew to a sculptor, who set down before her

Better far to be A Friendship, the fairest his art could invent,

In utter darkness lying, But so cold and so dull, that the youthful adorer

Than be blest with light, and see Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant.

That light for ever flying.

All that 's bright must fade,“Oh! never,” she cried, “could I think of enshrining The brightest still the fleetest ; An image whose looks are so joyless and dim!

All that's sweet was made
But yon little god upon roses reclining,

But to be lost when sweetest!
We'll make, if you please, Sir, a Friendship of him."
So the bargain was struck; with the little god laden
She joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove:

SO WARMLY WE MET. "Farewell,” said the sculptor, “ you 're not the first

Hungarian Air. maiden Who came but for Friendship, and took away Love." So warmly we met and so fondly we parted,

That which was the sweeter even I could not tell-. 1 The thought is taken from a song by Le Prieur called That first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted, " Le Statue de l'Amitié."

Or that tear of passion which bless'd our farewell

morrow

To meet was a heaven, and to part thus another, The bell of his cap rung merrily out;
Our joy and our sorrow seem'd rivals in bliss;

While Reason took
Oh! Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other

To his sermon-book-
In smiles and in tears, than that moment to this. Oh! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt.
The first was like day-break-new, sudden, delicious, Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage,

The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet Turn'd for a moment to Reason's dull page,
The last was that farewell of daylight, more precious, Till Folly said,
More glowing and deep, as 't is nearer its set.

“Look here, sweet maid !"Our meeting, though happy, was tinged by a sorrow The sight of his cap brought her back to herself; To think that such happiness could not remain ;

While Reason read While our parting, though sad, gave a hope that to

His leaves of lead,

With no one to mind him, poor sensible elf! Would bring back the blest hour of meeting again. Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap;

Had he that on, he her heart might entrap

“There it is,”
THOSE EVENING BELLS.

Quoth Folly, “old quiz !"
Air— The Bells of St. Petersburgh.

But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly wore,

That Beauty now liked him still less than before ; THOSE evening bells ! those evening bells !

While Folly took How many a tale their music tells,

Old Reason's book, Of youth, and home, and that sweet time,

And twisted the leaves in a cap of such Ton, When last I heard their soothing chime !

That Beauty vow'd Those joyous hours are past away!

(Though not aloud,) And many a heart that then was gay,

She liked him still better in that than his own!
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells !
And so 't will be when I am gone;

FARE THEE WELL, THOU LOVELY ONE' That tuneful peal will still ring on,

Sicilian Air. While other bards shall walk these dells,

FARE thee well, thou lovely one!
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells !

Lovely still, but dear no more;
Once his soul of truth is gone,

Love's sweet life is o'er.
SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES.

Thy words, whate'er their flattering spell,
Portuguese Air.

Could scarce have thus deceived;

But eyes that acted truth so well SHOULD those fond hopes e'er forsake thee,

Were sure to be believed. Which now so sweetly thy heart employ;

Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one! Should the cold world come to wake thee

Lovely still, but dear no more; From all thy visions of youth and joy ;

Once his soul of truth is

gone, Should the gay friends for whom thou wouldst banish

Love's sweet life is o'er.
Him who once thought thy young heart his own,
All like spring birds, falsely vanish,

Yet those eyes look constant still,
And leave thy winter unheeded and lone ;-

True as stars they keep their light;

Still those cheeks their pledge fulfil Oh! 't is then he thou hast slighted

Of blushing always bright. Would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd o'er;

'Tis only on thy changeful heart Then the truant, lost and blighted,

The blame of falsehood lies; Would to his bosom be taken once more.

Love lives in every other part, Like that dear bird we both can remember,

But there, alas! he dies. Who left us while summer shone round,

Then fare thee well, thou lovely one! But, when chill'd by bleak December,

Lovely still, but dear no more; Upon our threshold a welcome still found.

Once his soul of truth is gone,

Love's sweet life is o'er.

REASON, FOLLY, AND BEAUTY.
Italian Air.

DOST THOU REMEMBER.
Reason, Folly, and Beauty, they say,

Portuguese Air.
Went on a party of pleasure one day:

Dost thou remember that place so lonely
Folly play'd

A place for lovers and lovers only,
Around the maid,

Where first I told thee all my secret sighs ?

When as the moon-beam, that trembled o'er thee, 1 The metre of the words is here necessarily sacrificed to Illumed thy blushes, I knelt before thee, the air.

And read my hope's sweet triumph in those eyes.

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