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But soon,

The bee through many a garden roves,

Far better lights shall win me And hums his lay of courtship o'er,

Along the path I've yet to roam,But, when he finds the flower he loves,

The mind that burns within me, He settles there, and hums no more.

And pure smiles from thee at home.
Then doubt me not-the season

Thus, when the lamp that lighted
Is o'er when Folly kept me free,

The traveller, at first goes out,
And now the vestal Reason

He feels awhile benighted,
Shall guard the flame awaked by thee.

And looks around, in fear and doubt.


prospect clearing,

By cloudless star-light on he treads,

And thinks no lamp so cheering
AIR-Were I a Clerk.

As that light which Heaven sheds !
You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride,

How meekly she bless'd her humble lot,
When the stranger, William, had made her his bride,
And love was the light of their lowly cot.

No. VI.
Together they toil'd through winds and rains

Till William at length, in sadness, said, “We must seek our fortune on other plains ;"

In presenting this Sixth Number as our last, and Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed.

bidding adieu to the Irish Harp for ever, we shall not

answer very confidently for the strength of our resoThey roam'd a long and a weary way,

lution, nor feel quite sure that it may not prove, after Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease, all, to be only one of those eternal farewells which a When now, at close of one stormy day,

lover takes of his inistress occasionally. Our only They see a proud castle among the trees. motive indeed for discontinuing the Work was a fear “To-night," said the youth,“ we'll shelter there;

that our treasures were beginning to be exhausted, The wind blows cold, the hour is late :"

and an unwillingness to descend to the gathering of So be blew the horn with a chieftain's air,

mere seed-pearl, after the very valuable gems it has And the porter bow'd as they pass'd the gate. been our lot to string together. But this intention,

which we announced in our Fifth Number, has exe “Now, welcome, Lady!" exclaim'd the youth,— “ This castle is thine, and these dark woods all." cited an anxiety in the lovers of Irish Music, not only

pleasant and flattering, but highly useful to us; for She believed him wild, but his words were truth,

the various contributions we have received in conFor Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves

sequence have enriched our collection with so many

choice and beautiful Airs, that, if we keep to our reWhat William the stranger woo'd and wed;

solution of publishing no more, it will certainly be an And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves,

instance of forbearance and self-command unexamIs pure as it shone in the lowly shed.

pled in the history of poets and musicians.
Mayfield, Ashbourne,

T. M.

March, 1815.

AIR—The Rose Tree.
I'd mourn the hopes that leave me,

If thy smiles had left me too ;
I'd weep when friends deceive me,


Cuishlih ma Chree.
If thou wert, like them, untrue.

COME o'er the sea,
But, while I've thee before me,

Maiden! with me,
With heart so warm and eyes so bright,

Mine through sunshine, storm, and snow! No clouds can linger o'er me,

Seasons may roll,
That smile turns them all to light!

But the true soul

Burns the same, where'er it goes. "T is not in fate to harm me,

Let fate frown on, so we love and part not ;
While fate leaves thy love to me;

'Tis life where thou art, 't is death where thou art not 'T is not in joy to charm me,

Then, come o'er the sea,
Unless joy be shared with thee.

Maiden! with me,
One minute's dream about thee

Come wherever the wild wind blow;
Were worth a long, an endless year

Seasons may roll,
Of waking bliss without thee,

But the true soul
My own love, my only dear!

Burns the same, where'er it goes
And, though the hope be gone, love,

Is not the sea
That long sparkled o'er our way,

Made for the free,
Oh! we shall journey on, love,

Land for courts and chains alone ?
More safely without its ray.

Here we are slaves, 1 'This Ballad was suggested by a well-known and inte

But, on the waves, resting story, told of a certain noblo family in England. Love and Liberty 's all our own!

No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us. All earth forgot, and all heaven around us !

Then, come o'er the sea,

Maiden! with me,
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows!

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul
Burns the same, where'er it goes.

Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken

To such benign, bless'd sounds again.
Sweet voice of comfort ! 't was like the stealing

Of summer wind through some wreathed shell Each secret winding, each inmost feeling

Of all my soul echoed to its spell ! 'T was whisper'd balm-'t was sunshine spoken!

I'd live years of grief and pain,
To have my long sleep of sorrow broken

By such benign, bless'd sounds again!


Air-O Patrick ! fly from me. When first I met thee, warm and young,

There shone such truth about thee,
And on thy lip such promise hung,

I did not dare to doubt thee.
I saw thee change, yet still relied,

Still clung with hope the fonder,
And thought, though false to all beside,
From me thou couldst not wander.

But go, deceiver ! go,-

The heart, whose hopes could make it Trust one so false, so low,

Deserves that thou shouldst break it!



AIR-Sly Patrick
Has sorrow thy young days shaded,

As clouds o'er the morning fleet?
Too fast have those young days faded,

That, even in sorrow, were sweet ? Does Time with his cold wing wither

Each feeling that once was dear?Then, child of misfortune! come hither,

I'll weep with thee, tear for tear. Has love to that soul, so tender,

Been like our Lagenian mine,' Where sparkles of golden splendour

All over the surface shineBut, if in pursuit we go deeper,

Allured by the gleam that shone, Ah ! false as the dream of the sleeper,

Like Love, the bright ore is gone.
Has Hope, like the bird in the story,”

That flitted from tree to tree
With the talisman's glittering glory-

Has Hope been that bird to thee?
On branch after branch alighting,

The gem did she still display,
And, when nearest and most inviting,

Then waft the fair gem away!
If thus the sweet hours have fleeted,

When Sorrow herself look'd bright;
If thus the fond hope has cheated,

That led thee along so light;
If thus, too, the cold world wither

Each feeling that once was dear; Come, child of misfortune! come hither,

I'll weep with thee, tear for tear.

When every tongue thy follies named,

I fled the unwelcome story;
Or found, in even the faults they blamed,

Some gleams of future glory.
I still was true, when nearer friends

Conspired to wrong, to slight thee;
The heart that now thy falsehood rends,
Would then have bled to right thee.
But go, deceiver! go,

Some day, perhaps, thou'lt waken
From pleasure's dream, to know

The grief of hearts forsaken.
Even now, though youth its bloom has shed,

No lights of age adorn thee;
The few who loved thee once have fled,

And they who flatter scorn thee.
Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves,

No genial ties enwreathe it;
The smiling there, like light on graves,
Has rank, cold hearts beneath it!
Go-go-though worlds were thine,

I would not now surrender
One taintless tear of mine

For all thy guilty splendour!
And days may come, thou false one! yet,

When even those ties shall sever;
When thou wilt call, with vain regret,

On her thou'st lost for ever!
On her who, in thy fortune's fal.,

With smiles had still received thee,
And gladly died to prove thee all
Her fancy first believed thee.
Go-go-'t is vain to curse,

"Tis weakness to upbraid thee,
Hate cannot wish thee worse

Than guilt and shame have made theu


No, not more welcome the fairy numbers

Of music fall on the sleeper's ear,
When, half-awaking from fearful slumbers,

He thinks the full quire of Heaven is dear, Than came that voice, when, all forsaken,

This heart long had sleeping lain,

i Our Wicklow Gold-Mines, to which this verse alludes, deserve, I fear, the character here given of them.

2 " 'The bird baving got its prize, settled not far off, with the talisman in his mouth. The Prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it: but, as he approached, the bird touk wing, and settled again," etc.- Arabian Nights, Story of Kunmir al Zummaun and the Princess of China.


Air-Paddy Whack.
While History's Muse the memorial was keeping

Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves,
Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping,

For hers was the story that blotted the leaves. But oh! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame,

She saw History write,

With a pencil of light
That illumed all the volume, her WELLINGTON'S

"Hail, Star of my Isle!" said the Spirit, all sparkling

With beams, such as break from her own dewy

Like him, luo, Beauty won me
But while her eyes were on me

If once their ray

Was turn'd away.
Oh! winds could not outrun me.
And are those follies going ?
And is my proud heart growing

Too cold or wise

For brilliant eyes
Again to set it glowing ?
No-vain, alas! the endeavour
From bonds so sweet to sever ;-

Poor Wisdom's chance

Against a glance
Is now as weak as ever!

skies ;



“Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, I've watch'd for some glory like thine to arise.

WHERE IS THE SLAVE? For, though heroes I've number'd, unbless'd was their lot,

Air-Sios agus sios liom.
And unhallow'd they sleep in the cross-ways of WHERE is the slave, so lowly,

Condemn'd to chains unholy,
But, oh! there is not

Who, could he burst
One dishonouring blot

His bonds at first,
On the wreath that encircles my WELLINGTON'S Would pine beneath them slowly?

What soul, whose wrongs degrade it,

Would wait till time decay'd it, “Yet, still the last crown of thy toils is remaining,

When thus its wing The grandest, the purest even thou hast yet known;

At once may spring Though proud was thy task, other nations unchaining,

To the throne of Him who made it ? Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own.

Farewell, Erin !-farewell all
At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou hast

Who live to weep our fall!
Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame- Less dear the laurel growing,
And, bright o'er the flood

Alive, untouch'd, and blowing,
Of her tears and her blood,

Than that whose braid
Let the rainbow of Hope be her WELLINGTON'S

Is pluck'd to shade
The brows with victory glowing !
We tread the land that bore us,

Her green flag glitters o'er us,

The friends we've tried
Air-Peas upon a Trencher.

Are by our side,
The time I've lost in wooing,

And the foe we hate before us !
In watching and pursuing

Farewell, Erin !-farewell all
The light that lies

Who live to weep our fall!
In Woman's eyes,
Has been my heart's undoing.
Though Wisdom oft has sought me,

I scorn'd the lore she brought me,

Air-Lough Sheeling.
My only books

COME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer?
Were Woman's looks,

Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is And folly's all they've taught me.

still here ;

Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast
Her smile when Beauty granted,

And the heart and the hand all thy own to the last !
I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him, the Sprite,'

Oh! what was love made for, if 't is not the same
Whom maids by night

Through joy and through torrents, through glory and Oft meet in glen that's haunted.

shame ?

I know not, I ask not, if guilt 's in that heart, 1 This alludes to a kind of Irish Fairy, which is to be met I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art! with, they say, in the fields, at dusk :-as long as you keep your eyes upon him, he is fixed and in your power; but the moment you look away (and he is ingenious in furnishing Thou hast call'd me thy Angel in moments of bliss, some inducement) he vanishes. I had thought that this was And thy Angel I'll be, 'mid the horrors of this, the sprite which we call the Leprechaun; but a bigh Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps :9 pure authority upon such subjects, Lady Morgan (in a note upon her national and interesting Novel, O'Donnel,) has given a

sue, very different account of that goblin.

And shield thee, and save thee, or--perish there too! NATIONAL AIRS.



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 Aling 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 ;-

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;

All that's sweet was made
Spanish Air.

But to be lost when swectest! " 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 lo 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 unken from a song by Le Prieur called That first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted, "Le Statue de l'Amitie."

O, that tear of passion which bless'd our farewell


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,"

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.

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; Oh! 't is then he thou hast slighted

Still those cheeks their pledge fulfil Would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd o'er;

Of blushing always bright.

"T is only on thy changeful heart Then the truant, lost and blighted,

The blame of falsehood lies;
Would to his bosom be taken once more.
Like that dear bird we both can remember,

Love lives in every other part,

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.

Italian Air.

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 motre of the words is here necessarily sacrificed to Dlumed thy blushes, I knelt before thee,

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

the air.

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