Hence the goblet's shower

Hath such spells to win us-
Hence its mighty power

O'er that flame within us.

Fill the bumper fair! etc.


AIR-New Langolee.

DEAR Harp of my Country! in darkness I found


The cold chain of silence1 had hung o'er thee long,

In that rebellious but beautiful song «When Erin first rose» there is, if I recollect right, the following line:

«The dark chain of silence was thrown o er the deep.» The Chain of Silence was a sort of practical figure of rhetoric among the ancient Irish. Walker tells us of «a celebrated contention for precedence between Finn and Gaul, near-Finn's palace, at Almhaim, where the attending bards, anxious, if possible, to produce à cessa

When proudly, my own Island Harp! I unbound


And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and


The warm lay of love and the light note of glad


Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; But so oft hast thou echo'd the deep sigh of sad


That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee


Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to thy num


This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall


Go,-sleep, with the sunshine of fame on thy slumbers,

Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than


If the pulse of the patrist, soldier, or lover, Have throbb'd at our lav, 'tis thy glory alone;

tion of hostilities, shook the Chain of Silence, and flung themselves among the ranks.» -See also the Ode to Gaul, the son of Morni, in Miss Prook's «Reliques of Irish Poetry.»

I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over, And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own!


IR The Coina or Dirge

My gentle Harp: once more waken
The sweetness of thy slumb'ring strain ;
In tears our last farewell was taken,
And now in tears we meet again.
No light of joy hath o'er thee broken,

But, like those harps, whose heavenly skil
Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken-
Thou hang'st upon the willows still.

And yet, since last thy chord resounded,
An hour of peace and triumph came,
When many an ardent bosom bounded
With hopes-that now are turn'd to shame.
Yet even then, while Peace was singing
Her halcyon song o'er land and sea,
Though joy and hope to others bringing,
She only brought new tears to thee.

Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure,
My drooping Harp from chords like thine :
Alas! the lark's gay morning measure

As ill would suit the swan's decline!
Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee,

Invoke thy breath for freedom's strains, When ev'n the wreaths, in which I dress thee, Are sadly mix'd-half flow'rs, half chairs!

But come,-if yet thy frame can borrow
One breath of joy-oh, breatke for me,
And shew the world, in chains and sorrow,
How sweet thy music still can be;
How lightly, ev'n mid gloom surrounding,
Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrill-
Like Memnon's broken image, sounding,
Mid desolation tuneful still!!

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1 Dimidio magicæ resonant ubi Memnone chorde, Atque vetus Thebe centum jacet obruta portis. Juvenal.


AIR-The Girl I left behind me.

As slow our ship her foamy track
Against the wind was cleaving,
Her trembling penuant still look'd back
To that dear isle 'twas leaving.
So loath we part from all we love,
From all the links that bind us;
So turn our hearts, where'er we rove,
To those we've left behind us.

When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years
We talk, with joyous seeming,
And smiles that might as well be tears,
So faint, so sad their beaming;
While mem'ry brings us back again
Each early tie that twined us,
Oh sweet's the cup that circles then
To those we've left behind us.

And, when in other climes we meet
Some isle or vale enchanting,

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