Till lips, that know the charm, have spoken,
This heart, howe'er the world may wake
Its grief, its scorn can but be broken
By thee, thee, only thee.

SHALL THE HARP THEN BE SILENT?

AIR-Mccfarlane's Lamentation.

SHALL the Harp then be silent, when he, who first

gave

To our country a name, is withdrawn from all

eyes?

Shall a Minstrel of Erın stand mute by the grave, Where the first-where the last of her Patriots

lies?

No-faint though the death-song may fall from

his lips,

Though his Harp, like his soul. may with shadows be crost,

Yet, yet shall it sound, mid a nation's eclipse, And proclaim to the world what a star hath been lost?

It is only these two first verses, that are either fitted or intended to be sung.

What a union of all the affections and powers,

By which life is exalted, embellish'd, refined, Was embraced in that spirit whose centre was

ours,

While its mighty circumference circled mankind.

Oh, who that loves Erin-or who that can see, Through the waste of her annals that epoch sublime

Like a pyramid, raised in the desert—where he And his glory stand out to the eyes of all time!

That one lucid interval snatch'd from the gloom And the madness of ages, when, fill'd with his

soul,

A nation o'erleap'd the dark bounds of her doom, And, for one sacred instant, touch'd Liberty's

Who, that ever hath heard him-hath drank at the

source

Of that wonderful eloquence, all Erin's own, In whose high-thoughted daring, the fire, and the

force,

And the yet untamed spring of her spirit are shewn

An eloquence rich-wheresoever its wave

Wander'd free and triumphant

that shone through,

with thoughts

As clear as the brook's « stone of lustre,» and

gáve,

With the flash of the gem, its solidity too.

Who, that ever approach'd him, when, free from the crowd,

In a home full of love, he delighted to tread, 'Mong the trees which a nation had given, and which bow'd,

As if each brought a new civic crown for his head.

That home, where-like him who, as fable hath

told,

Put the rays from his brow, that his child might

come near

Every glory forgot, the most wise of the old Became all that the simplest and youngest hold dear.

Apollo, in his interview with Phaeton, as described by Ovid. Deposuit rados propiusque accedere jussit.

:

Is there one who nath thus through his orbit of

life,

But at distance observed him-through glory, through blame,

In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife, Whether shining or clouded, still high and the

same

Such a union of all that enriches life's hour,

Of the sweetness we love and the greatness we

praise,

As that type of simplicity blended with power, A child with a thunderbolt only pourtrays.

Oh, no

not a heart, that e'er knew him, but mourns,

Deep deep o'er the grave, where such glory is

O'er a monument Fame will preserve, 'mong the

urns

Of the wisest, the bravest, the best of mankind!

OH, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING.

AIR-Planxty Sudley.

Oн, the sight entrancing,

When morning's beam is glancing
O'er files, array'd

With helm and lade,

And plumes, in the gay wind dancing!
When hearts are all high beating!
And the trumpet's voice repeating
That song, whose breath

May lead to death,

But never to retreating!

Oh the sight entrancing,

When morning's beam is glancing

O'er files array'd

With helm and blade,

And plumes, in the gay wind dancing!

Yet, 'tis not helm or feather

For ask yon despot, whether

His plumed bands

Could bring such hands And hearts as ours together.