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But while I've thee before me,

With heart so warm, and eyes so bright,

No clouds can linger o'er me,

Thy smile turns them all to light!

"Tis not in fate to harm me,

While fate leaves thy love to me;
'Tis not in joy to charm me,
Unless joy be shared with thee.
One minute's dream about thee,
Were worth a long and endless year
Of waking bliss without thee,
My own love, my only dear!

And though the hope be gone, love,
That long sparkled o'er our way,
Oh! we shall journey on, love,
More safely, without its ray.

Far better lights shall win me,
Along the path I've yet to roam,-

The mind that burns within me,

And pure smiles from thee at home.

Thus, when the lamp that lighted
The traveller, at first goes out,

He feels awhile benighted,

And looks round, in fear and doubt.

But soon the prospect clearing

By cloudless star-light on he treads;
And thinks no lamp so cheering,

As that light which Heaven sheds.

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1 The following are some of the original words of this wild and singular air;-they contain rather an odd assortment of grievances.

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How, the rogue, he did serve me ;-Bis.

He broke my pitcher, he spilt my water,
He kiss'd my wife, and he married my daughter!
O Cuishlih ma chree! etc.

But the true soul

Burns the same, wherever it goes.

Let fate frown on, so we love and part not!

Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not!

Then come o'er the sea;

Maiden! with me,

Come wherever the wild wind blows;

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul

Burns the same, wherever it goes.

Is not the sea

Made for the free,

Land for courts and chains alone!
Here we are slaves;

But, on the waves,

Love and Liberty's all our own!

No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us,
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us!
Then come o'er the sea,

Maiden! with me,

Come wherever the wild wind blows;

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul

Burns the same, wherever it goes.

HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED?

AIR-Sly Patrick.

Has sorrow thy young days shaded,
As clouds o'er the morning fleet?
Too fast have those young days faded,
That even in sorrow were sweet?
Does Time with his cold wing withe
Each feeling that once was dear ?—
Come, child of misfortune! come hither,
I'll weep with thee tear for tear,

I

Has Love to that soul so tender
Been like our Lagenian mine,
Where sparkles of golden splendour
All over the surface shine?
But if in pursuit we go deeper,

Allured by the gleam that shone.

1 Our Wicklow Gold Mines, to which this verse alludes, deserve, I fear, the character here given of them.

Ah! faise as the dream of the sleeper,
Like Love, the bright ore is gone.

Has Hope, like the bird in the story,'
That flitted from tree to tree
With the talisman's glittering glory-
Has hope been that bird to thee?
On branch after branch alighting,
The gem did she still display,

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And, when nearest and most inviting,
Then waft the fair gem away?

If thus the sweet hours nave fleeted,
When sorrow herself look'd bright;
If thus the fond hope has cheated,
That led thee along so light;
If thus the unkind world wither

Each feeling that once was dear ;-
Come, child of misfortune! come hither.

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<< The Bird, having got its prize, settled not far off -with the talisman in its mouth. The prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it; but, as he approached, the bird took wing, and settled again,» etc.—Arabian Nights -Story of Kummir al Zummaun and the Princess of China.

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