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But nothing can cloud its native ray;

Each fragment will cast

A light, to the last! And thus, Erin, my country! though broken thou



There's a lustre within thee that ne'er will decay; À spirit which beams through each suffering part,

And now smiles at their pain, on the Prince's Day!


AIR.—The Song of Sorrow.


Weep on, weep on, your hour is past;

Your dreams of pride are o'er ;
The fatal chain is round you cast,

And you are men no more!
In vain the hero's heart hath bled;

The sage's tongue hath warn’d in vain ;-
Oh, Freedom ! once thy flame hath fled,

It never lights again!


Weep on-perhaps in after days

They'll learn to love your name; When many a deed shall wake in praise

That now must sleep in blame! And, when they tread the ruin'd isle,

Where rest, at length, the lord and slave, They'll wond’ring ask, how hands so vile

Could conquer hearts so brave.



“ 'Twas fate," they'll say, “ a wayward fate

“ Your web of discord wove ;
And, while your tyrants join'd in hate,

“ You never join'd in love!
“ But hearts fell off that ought to twine,

“ And man profaned what God hath given, « Till some were heard to curse the shrine

66 Where others knelt to Heaven!”


AIR.Nora Creina.


1. Lesbia hath a beaming eye,

But no one knows for whom it beameth; Right and left its arrows fly,

But what they, aim at no one dreameth! Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon

My Nora's lid, that seldom rises;
Few its looks, but every one,
Like unexpected light, surprises !

Oh, my NORA CREINA, dear!
My gentle, bashful Nora CREINA !

Beauty lies

In many eyes,
But love in yours, my Nora Creina !

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II. LESBIA wears a robe of gold,

But all so close the nymph hath laced it, Not a charm of Beauty's mould Presumes to stay where Nature placed it!

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That floats as wild as mountain breezes,
Leaving every beauty free
To sink or swell, as Heaven pleases !

Yes, my Nora Creina, dear!
My simple, graceful Nora CREINA!

Nature's dress

Is loveliness-
The dress you wear, my Nora Creina!


III. Lesbia hath a wit refined,

But, when its points are gleaming round us, Who can tell if they're design'd

To dazzle merely or to wound us ? Pillow'd on my Nora's heart,

In safer slumber Love reposes-
Bed of peace! whose roughest part
Is but the crumpling of the roses.

Oh, my NORA CREINA, dear!
My mild, my artless Nora Creina !

Wit, though bright,

Hath not the light
That warms your eyes, my Nora Creina!

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I saw thy form in youthful prime,

Nor thought that pale decay
Would steal before the steps of time,
And waste its bloom


MARY! Yet still thy features wore that light

Which fleets not with the breath; And life ne'er look’d more truly bright

Than in thy smile of death, Mary!


As streams that run o'er golden mines,

Yet humbly, calmly glide,
Nor scem to know the wealth that shines

Within their gentle tide, Mary!
So, veil'd beneath the simplest guise,

Thy radiant genius shone,
And that which charm'd all other eyes

Seem'd worthless in thy own, MARY!

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