Oh, ye dead! oh, ye dead!

143

Of all the fair months that round the sun.

145

How sweet the answer Echo makes.

147

Oh, banquet not in those shining bowers. ›

149

The dawning of morn, the day-light's sinking.

.149

Shall the Harp then be silent. when he who first gate. 150

Oh, the sight entrancing.

NATIONAL MELODIES.

154

A « Temple to Friendship,» said Laura enchanted. 159

Flow on, thou shining river.

All that's bright must fa le.

So warmly we met and so fondly we parted.

Those ev'ning bells, those ev'ning bells.

Should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee.

Reason, and Folly, and Beauty, they say.

Fare thee well, thou lovely one..

Dost thou remember that place so lonely.

Oh, come to me when day-light sets.

Oft in the stilly night.

Hark! the vesper hymn is stealing.

At morn, beside yon summer sea.

There comes a time, a dreary time.

My harp has one unchanging theme.

Oh! no, not e'en when first we loved.

160

Peace be around thee, wherever thou rovest.

While I touch the string...

Then fare thee well, my own dear love.

Gaily sounds the castanet.

Love is a hunter-' oy.

Come clase at starting tear away.

Whisp'rings heard by wakeful maids.

Ilear me ut once, while o'er thy grave.

IRISH MELODIES.

GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE.

AIR-Maid of the Valley.

Go where glory waits thee;
And when Fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest
To thine ear is sweetest,

Oh! then remember me.
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee.
Sweeter far may be;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,

Oh! then remember me.

I

When, at eve, thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,

Oh! then remember me. Think, when home returning, Bright we've seen it burning,Oh! then remember me.

Oft, as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its ling 'ring roses,

Once so loved by thee: Think of her who wove them,

Her who made thee love them; Oh! then remember me.

When around thee, dying,
Autumn leaves are lying,

Oh! then remember me :
And at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,
Oh! still remember me.
Then should music, stealing
O'er the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,

Draw one tear from thee;
Then let mem'ry bring thee
Strains I used to sing thee;

Oh! then remember me.

WAR SONG.

REMEMBER THE GLORIES OF BRIEN THE BRAVE.

AIR-Molly Macalpin.

REMEMBER the glories of Brien the Brave,'
Though the days of the hero are o'er;
Though lost to Mononia, and cold in the grave,
He returns to Kinkora no more!

That star of the field, which so often has pour'd
Its beam on the battle, is set;

But enough of its glory remains on each sword To light us to victory yet.

Mononia! when Nature embellish'd the tint

Of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair, Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print The footstep of Slavery there?

Brien Borombe, the great monarch of Ireland who was killed at the battle of Clontarf, in the beginning of the eleventh century, after having defeated the Danes in twenty five engagements.

2 Munster.

3 The Palace of Brien

No, Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign, Go, tell our invaders, the Danes,

That'tis weeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine Than to sleep but a moment in chains!

Forget not our wounded companions,4 who stood In the day of distress by our side;

While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood

They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died!

The snn,

that now blesses our arms with his light,

Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain !—

Oh! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night, To find that they fell there in vain!

4 This alludes to an interesting circumstance related of the Dalgais, the favourite troops of Brien, when they were interrupted in their return from the battle of Clontarf, by Fitzpatrick, Prince of Ossory. The wounded men entreated that they might be allowed to fight with the rest. -«.Let stakes,» they said, «be stuck in the ground; and suffer cach of us, tied to and supported by one of these stakes, to be placed in his rank by the side of a sound man. >> « Between seven and eight hundred wounded men,» adds O'Halloran, «pale, emaciated, and supported in this manner, appeared mixed with the foremost of the troops! -Never was such another sight exhibited.»-History of Ireland, book 12, chap. i.