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DRINK OF THIS CUP.
DRINK of this cup-you'll find there's a spell in
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.
Would you forget the dark world we are in, Only taste of the bubble that gleams on the top
But would you rise abo e earth, till akin
To immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it.
Send round the cup-for, oh! there's a spell in
Never was philter form'd with such power
Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour,
a harvest of gold ir the fields it stood laughing.
There, having by nature's enchantment been
With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest
This wonderful juice from its core was distill'd, To enliven such hearts as are here brought to
Then drink of the cup- you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortalityTalk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen, Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.
And though, perhaps - but breathe it to n
Like cauldrons the witch brews at midnight sa
In secret this philter was first taught to flow on, Yet-'tisn't less potent for being unlawful. What, though it may taste of the smoke of that flame,
Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden
Fill up there's a fire in some hearts I could
Which may work too its charm, though sow lawless and hidden,
So drink of the cup-for, oh! there's a spell in Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortalityTalk of the cordial, that sparkled for Helen, Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.
DOWN IN THE VALLEY COME MEET ME.
AIR-Open the Dor softly
Down in the valley come meet me to-night,
As ever 'twas told, by the new moon's light
ut, for the world, let no one be nigh, Lest haply the stars should deceive me ; These secrets between you and me and the sky Should never go farther, believe me.
If at that hour the heavens be not dim,
Then to the phantom be thou but kind,
Down at your feet, in the pale moon-light,
What other thoughts and events may arise,
OH, YE DEAD!
Оn, ye Dead! Oh, ye Dead! whom we know by the light you give
From your cold gleaming eyes, though you move
like men who live
Why leave you thus your graves;
In far off fields and waves,
Where the worm and the sea-bird only hnow your bed,
To haunt his spot, where all
Those eyes that wept your fall,
And the hearts that bewail'd you, like
It is true-it is true-we are shadows cold and
It is true-it is true-all the friends we loved are
But, oh! thus ev'n in death,
So sweet is still the breath
Of the fields and the flow'rs in our youth we wander'd o'er,
That, ere condemn'd we go
To freeze mid Hecla's snow,
We would taste it awhile, and dream we live once more!
Paul Zeland mentions that there is a mountain in some part of Ireland, where the ghosts of persons who have died in foreign lands, walk about and converse with those they meet like living people. If asked why they o not return to their homes, they say, they are obliged te go to Mount Hecla, and disappear immediately.