Then, then my spirit around shall hover,

And hallow each drop that foams for him.

HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED.

AIR.-The Dear Black Maid.

I.
How oft has the Benshee cried !
How oft has Death untied
Bright links that Glory wove,

Sweet bonds, entwined by Love!
Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth !
Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth !

Long may the fair and brave
Sigh o'er the hero's grave.

II.

We're fallen upon gloomy days, *
Star after star decays,

* I have endeavoured here, without losing that Irish character which it is my object to preserve thronghout this work, to allude to the sad and ominous fatality by which England has been deprived of so many great and good men at a moment when she most requires all the aids of talent and integrity.

Every bright name, that shed

Light o'er the land, is fled.
Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth
Lost joy, or hope that ne'er returneth,

But brightly flows the tear
Wept o'er a hero's bier !

a

III.

Oh! quench'd are our beacon-lights-
Thou, of the hundred fights!*
Thou, on whose burning tonguet

Truth, peace and freedom hung!
Both mute-but long as valour shineth,
Or mercy's soul at war repineth,

So long shall Erin's pride
Tell how they lived and died.

* This designation, which has been applied to Lord Nelson before, is the title given to a celebrated Irish Hero, in a Poem by O’Gnive, the bard of O’Niel, which is quoted in the “Philosophical Survey of the South of Ireland.” Page 433. “Con, of the hundred fights, sleep in thy grass-grown tomb, and upbraid not our defeats with thy victories !”

+ Fox, “ultimus Romanorum."

WE may roam through this world like a child at a feast,

Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest ; And when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, We may

order our wings and be off to the west ; But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile,

Are the dearest gifts that Heaven supplies, We never need leave our own green isle,

For sensitive hearts and for sun-bright eyes. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Through this world whether eastward or westward

you roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,

Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home.

II.

In ENGLAND, the garden of beauty is kept

By a dragon of prudery, placed within call; But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,

That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after all.

Oh! they want the wild sweet briery fence,

Which round the flowers of ERIN dwells,
Which warns the touch, while winning the sense,

Nor charms us least when it most repels.
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown's,
Through this world whether eastward or westward

you roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,

Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home.

III.

In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail,

On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try, Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail,

But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-bye! While the daughters of Erin keep the boy

Ever smiling beside his faithful oar, Through billows of woe and beams of joy

The same as he look'd when he left the shore. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Through this world whether eastward or westward

you roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,

Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home. EVELEEN'S BOWER.

AIR.-Unknown.

I.
On! weep for the hour,
Он

When to Eveleen's bower
The Lord of the valley with false vows came;

The moon hid her light

From the heavens that night, And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame.

The clouds pass’d soon

From the chaste cold moon,
And Heaven smiled again with her vestal flame ;

But none will see the day

When the clouds shall pass away,
Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame.

II.
The white snow lay

On the narrow path-way,
Where the Lord of the valley cross'd over the moor;

And many a deep print

On the white snow's tint Show'd the track of his footstep to Evelsey's door.