WHEN HE WHO ADORES THEE.

AIR.-The Fox's Sleep.

I.

а

When he who adores thee has left but the name

Of his fault and his sorrows behind, Oh! say, wilt thou 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

Every thought of my reason was thine ;
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above

Thy name shall be mingled with mine!
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

Is the pride of thus dying for thee!

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,

Now feel that pulse no more!

II.

No more to chiefs and ladies bright

The harp of Tara swells ;
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,

To show that still she lives !

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,*

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
At noon be cold as winter brooks,
Nor kindle till the night, returning,
Brings their genial hour for burning.

Oh! stay-Oh! stay.
When did morning ever break,
And find such beaming eyes awake

As those that sparkle here!

OH! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE ALWAYS

AS LIGHT.

AIR.-John O'Reilly the Active.

I.

Oi! 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.

re 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.

The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows !

If it were not with friendship and love intertwined ; And I care not how soon I may sink to repose, When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my

mind! 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.