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Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping,
Still doth the pure light its dawning delay! When will that day-star, mildly springing, Warm our isle with
and love? When will Heaven, its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit to the fields above?
COME SEND ROUND THE WINE.
Air.-We brought the Summer with us.
Come, send round the wine, and leave points of belief
To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools ; This moment's a flower too fair and brief,
To be wither'd and stain'd by the dust of the schools. Your glass may be purple and mine may be blue,
But, while they are fill’d from the same bright bowl, The fool who would quarrel for difference of hue
Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul.
In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree?
Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried,
If he kneel not before the same altar with me? From the heretic girl of my soul shall I fly,
To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss ? No! perish the hearts, and the laws that try
Truth, valour, or love by a standard like this!
SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING.
AIR.—The Black Joke.
Into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain !
While you add to your garland the Olive of SPAIN !
II. If the fame of our fathers, bequeath'd with their rights, Give to country its charm, and to home its delights,
If deceit be a wound and suspicion a stainThen, ye men of Iberia! our cause is the same ; And oh! may his tomb want a tear and a name, Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death, Than to turn his last sigh into victory's breath
For the Shamrock of ERIN and Olive of SPAIN !
III. Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find That repose which at home they had sigh'd for in
vain, Join, join in our hope that the flame, which you light, May be felt yet in Erin, as calm and as bright, And forgive even ALBION, while blushing she draws, Like a truant, her sword, in the long-slighted cause
Of the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain !
prosper the cause !-oh! it cannot but thrive, While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive,
Its devotion to feel, and its rights to maintain ; Then how sainted by sorrow its martyrs will die ! The finger of Glory shall point where they lie, While, far from the footstep of coward or slave,
The young Spirit of Freedom shall shelter their grave,
Beneath Shamrocks of ERIN and Olives of SPAIN.
BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING
AIR.--My Lodging is on the cold Ground.
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away!
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
Would entwine itself verdantly still!
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
To which time will but make thee more dear!