WHEN HE WHO ADORES THEE. AIR.-The Fox's Sleep. I. WHEN he who adores thee has left but the name Of his fault and his sorrows behind, Oh! say, wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame Of a life that for thee was resign'd? Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn, Thy tears shall efface their decree; For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, I have been but too faithful to thee! II. With thee were the dreams of my earliest love- In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live The days of thy glory to see ; But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS. AIR.-Gramachree. I. THE harp that once through TARA'S halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on TARA'S walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts that once beat high for praise, II. No more to chiefs and ladies bright The chord alone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells. Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives Is when some heart indignant breaks, FLY NOT YET. AIR-Planxty Kelly. I. FLY not yet, 'tis just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night, And maids who love the moon! 'Twas but to bless these hours of shade That beauty and the moon were made; "Tis then their soft attractions glowing Set the tides and goblets flowing. Oh! stay-Oh! stay. Joy so seldom weaves a chain Like this to-night, that oh! 'tis pain To break its links so soon. II. Fly not yet, the fount that play'd In times of old through AMMON's shade,* * Solis Fons, near the temple of Ammon. Though 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 When did morning ever break, OH! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE ALWAYS AIR.-John O'Reilly the Active. I. On! think not my spirits are always as light, And as free from a pang, as they seem to you now; Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow. No-life is a waste of wearisome hours, Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns! But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile; May we never meet worse in our pilgrimage here, Than the tear that enjoyment can gild with a smile, And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear. II. The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows! When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my But they who have loved the fondest, the purest, Too often have wept o'er the dream they believed; And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship securest, Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceived. But send round the bowl-while a relic of truth Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine,That the sun-shine of love may illumine our youth, And the moon-light of friendship console our decline. |