No VII.

IF I had consulted only my own judgment, this Work would not have been extended beyond the Six Numbers already published; which contain, perhaps, the flower of our National Melodies, and have attained a rank in public favour, of which I would not willingly risk the forfeiture by degenerating, in any way, from those merits that were its source. Whatever treasures of our music were still in reserve (and it will be seen, I trust, that they are numerous and valuable), I would gladly have left to future poets to glean; and, with the ritual words tibi trado, would have delivered up the torch into other hands, before it had lost much of its light in my own. But the call for a continuance of the work has been, as I understand from the Publisher, so general, and we have received so many contributions of old and beautiful airs,' the suppression of which, for the enhancement of those we have published, would resemble too much the policy of the Dutch in burning their spices, that I have been persuaded, though not without considerable diffidence in my success, to commence a new series of the Irish Melodies.

MY GENTLE HARP!

AIR-The Coina, or Dirge.

My gentle Harp! once more I waken
The sweetness of thy slumbering strain;
In tears our last farewell was taken,

T. M.

And now in tears we meet again. No light of joy hath o'er thee broken, But-like those harps, whose heavenly skill Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spokenThou hang'st upon the willows still. And yet, since last thy chord resounded, An hour of peace and triumph came, And 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 even the wreaths in which I dress thee!
Are sadly mix'd-half-flowers, half chains!

But come-if yet thy frame can borrow

One breath of joy-oh, breathe for me, And show the world, in chains and sorrow, How sweet thy music still can be;

1 One gentleman, in particular, whose name I shall feel happy in being allowed to mention, has not only sent us near forty ancient airs, but has communicated many curious fragments of Irish poetry, and some interesting traditions, current in the country where he resides, illustrated by sketches of the romantic scenery to which they refer; all of which, though too late for the present Number, will be of infinite service to us in the prosecution of our task.

Then, then is the moment affection can sway
With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew;
Love nursed among pleasures is faithless as they,
But the Love born of sorrow, like sorrow, is true!

In climes full of sun-shine, though splendid their dyes,
Yet faint is the odour the flowers shed about;
'T is the clouds and the mists of our own weeping skies
That call the full spirit of fragrancy out.
So the wild glow of passion may kindle from mirth,
But 't is only in grief true affection appears;-
And, even though to smiles it may first owe its birth,
All the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears.

WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH.

AIR-Limerick's Lamentation.

WHEN cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved,
Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then;
Or, if from their slumber the veil be removed,
Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again.
And, oh! if 't is pain to remember how far

From the path-ways of light he was tempted to roam, Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star

That arose on his darkness and guided him home.

From thee and thy innocent beauty first came

The revealings, that taught him true Love to adore, To feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame From the idols he blindly had knelt to before. O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild,

Thou camest, like a soft golden calm o'er the sea; And, if happiness purely and glowingly smiled

On his evening horizon, the light was from thee.

And though sometimes the shade of past folly would rise,

And though Falsehood again would allure him to stray, He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes,

And the folly, the falsehood soon vanished away. As the Priests of the Sun, when their altar grew dim, At the day-beam alone could its lustre repair, So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him,

He but flew to that smile, and rekindled it there.

REMEMBER THEE!

AIR-Castle Tirowen.

REMEMBER thee! yes, while there 's life in this heart,
It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art;
More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers,
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours.

Wert thou all that I wish thee,-great, glorious, and free

First flower of the earth and first gem of the sea,-
I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow,
But, oh! could I love thee more deeply than now?

No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs,
But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons-
Whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird's nest,
Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast!

WREATHE THE BOWL.

AIR-Noran Kista.
WREATHE the bowl

With flowers of soul,
The brightest wit can find us;
We'll take a flight

Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us! Should Love amid

The wreaths be hid

That Joy, the enchanter, brings us, No danger fear,

While wine is near

We'll drown him if he stings us.
Then wreathe the bowl

With flowers of soul,
The brightest wit can find us;
We'll take a flight

Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us!

'T was nectar fed
Of old, 't is said,
Their Junos, Joves, Apollos;

And man may brew
His nectar too,
The rich receipt 's as follows:
Take wine like this,
Let looks of bliss
Around it well be blended,

Then bring wit's beam

To warm the stream,
And there's your nectar, splendid!
So, wreathe the bowl

With flowers of soul,
The brightest wit can find us;
We'll take a flight
Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us!

Say, why did Time
His glass sublime

Fill up with sands unsightly,
When wine, he knew,
Runs brisker through,
And sparkles far more brightly!
Oh, lend it us,

And, smiling thus,
The glass in two we'd sever,
Make pleasure glide

In double tide,

And fill both ends for ever!
Then wreathe the bowl
With flowers of soul,
The brightest wit can find us!
We'll take a flight
Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us!

WHENE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES. AIR-Father Quinn.

WHENE'ER I see those smiling eyes,

All fill'd with hope, and joy, and light,

As if no cloud could ever rise,

To dim a heaven so purely brightI sigh to think how soon that brow In grief may lose its every ray, And that light heart, so joyous now, Almost forget it once was gay.

For Time will come with all his blights, The ruin'd hope--the friend unkindThe love that leaves, where'er it lights,

A chill'd or burning heart behind! While youth, that now like snow appears, Ere sullied by the darkening rain, When once 't is touch'd by sorrow's tears, Will never shine so bright again!

IF THOU 'LT BE MINE.
AIR-The Winnowing Sheet.
If thou 'It be mine, the treasures of air,
Of earth and sea, shall lie at thy feet;
Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair,

Or in Hope's sweet music is most sweet,
Shall be ours,
if thou wilt be mine, love!

Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove,
A voice divine shall talk in each stream,
The stars shall look like worlds of love,
And this earth be all one beautiful dream

In our eyes-if thou wilt be mine, love!

And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high,
Like streams that come from heaven-ward hills,
Shall keep our hearts-like meads, that lie
To be bathed by those eternal rills—
Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love!

All this and more the Spirit of Love

Can breathe o'er them who feel his spells; That heaven, which forms his home above, He can make on earth, wherever he dwells, And he will-if thou wilt be mine, love!

TO LADIES' EYES.
AIR-Fague a Ballagh.

To ladies' eyes a round, boy,

We can't refuse, we can't refuse, Though bright eyes so abound, boy,

'Tis hard to chuse, 't is hard to chuse.

For thick as stars that lighten

Yon airy bowers, yon airy bowers,

The countless eyes that brighten

This earth of ours, this earth of ours.

But fill the cup-where'er, boy,
Our choice may fall, our choice may fall,
We're sure to find Love there, boy,

So drink them all! so drink them all!

Some looks there are so holy,

They seem but given, they seem but given, As splendid beacons solely,

To light to heaven, to light to heaven.

While some-oh! ne'er believe themWith tempting ray, with tempting ray, Would lead us (God forgive them!)

The other way, the other way.

But fill the cup-where'er boy,

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're sure to find Love there, boy,

So drink them all! so drink them all!

In some, as in a mirror,

Love seems portray'd, Love seems portray'd, But shun the flattering error,

'T is but his shade, 't is but his shade.

Himself has fix'd his dwelling

In eyes we know, in eyes we know,

And lips-but this is telling,

So here they go! so here they go!

Fill up, fill up-where'er, boy,

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're sure to find Love there, boy,

So drink them all! so drink them all!

FORGET NOT THE FIELD. AIR-The Lamentation of Aughrim. FORGET not the field where they perish'd, The truest, the last of the brave,

All gone-and the bright hope they cherish'd Gone with them, and quench'd in their grave!

Oh! could we from death but recover

Those hearts, as they bounded before, In the face of high Heaven to fight over

That combat for freedom once more;

Could the chain for an instant be riven
Which Tyranny flung round us then,
Oh! 't is not in Man nor in Heaven
To let Tyranny bind it again!

But 't is past--and, though blazon'd in story
The name of our Victor may be,
Accursed is the march of that glory
Which treads o'er the hearts of the free.

Far dearer the grave or the prison,
Illumed by one patriot name,

Than the trophies of all who have risen
On liberty's ruins to fame!

THEY MAY RAIL AT THIS LIFE. AIR-Noch bonin shin doe. THEY may rail at this life-from the hour I began it, I've found it a life full of kindness and bliss; And, until they can show me some happier planet, More social and bright, I 'll content me with this. As long as the world has such eloquent eyes, As before me this moment enraptured I see, They may say what they will of their orbs in the skies, But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.

In Mercury's star, where each minute can bring them New sunshine and wit from the fountain on high,

No VIII.

NE'ER ASK THE HOUR.

AIR-My Husband's a Journey to Portugal gone.
NE'ER ask the hour-what is it to us
How Time deals out his treasures?
The golden moments lent us thus

Are not his coin, but Pleasure's.

If counting them over could add to their blisses,
I'd number each glorious second;
But moments of joy are, like Lesbia's kisses,
Too quick and sweet to be reckon'd.
Then fill the cup-what is it to us
How Time his circle measures?
The fairy hours we call up thus
Obey no wand but Pleasure's!

Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours,
Till Care, one summer's morning,
Set up among his smiling flowers
A dial, by way of warning.

But Joy loved better to gaze on the sun,

As long as its light was glowing,
Than to watch with old Care how the shadow stole on,
And how fast that light was going.

So fill the cup-what is it to us
How Time his circle measures?
The fairy hours we call up thus
Obey no wand but Pleasure's.

SAIL ON, SAIL ON.
AIR-The Humming of the Ban.
SAIL on, sail on, thou fearless bark-
Wherever blows the welcome wind,
It cannot lead to scenes more dark,
More sad, than those we leave behind.
Each wave that passes seems to say,

Though death beneath our smile may be, Less cold we are, less false than they

Whose smiling wreck'd thy hopes and thee.

Sail on, sail on-through endless space

Through calm-through tempest-stop no more;

The stormiest sea 's a resting-place

To him who leaves such hearts on shore. Or-if some desert land we meet,

Where never yet false-hearted men Profaned a world that else were sweetThen rest thee bark, but not till then.

Tous les habitans de Mercure sont vifs.-Pluralité des Mondes. 2 La Terre pourra être pour Vénus l'étoile du berger et la mère des amours, comme Vénus l'est pour nous.-16.

THE PARALLEL.

AIR-I would rather than Ireland. YES, sad one of Sion,-if closely resembling, In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd-up heartIf drinking, deep, deep, of the same cup of trembling Could make us thy children, our parent thou art.

These verses were written after the perusal of a treatise by Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that the Irish were originally Jews.

Like thee doth our nation lie conquer'd and broken,
And fallen from her head is the once royal crown;
In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken,
And while it is day yet, her sun hath gone down.” '

Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning,
Die far from the home it were life to behold;
Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning,
Remember the bright things that bless'd them of old!

Ah, well may we call her, like thee, « the Forsaken,» 2 Her boldest are vanquish'd, her proudest are slaves; And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken, Have breathings as sad as the wind over graves!

Yet hadst thou thy vengeance-yet came there the mor

row

That shines out at last on the longest dark night, When the sceptre that smote thee with slavery and sor

row

Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight.

When that cup, which for others the proud Golden City 3

Had brimm'd full of bitterness, drench'd her own lips, And the world she had trampled on heard, without pity, The howl in her halls and the cry from her ships.

When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty came over
Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust,
And-a ruin, at last, for the earth-worm to cover-4
The Lady of Kingdoms 5 lay low in the dust.

DRINK OF THIS CUP. AIR-Paddy O'Rafferty.

DRINK of this cup-you 'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality-
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen,
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 of it;
But would you rise above earth, till akin

To immortals themselves, you must drain every drop

of it.

Send round 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.

Never was philter form'd with such power

To charm and bewilder, as this we are quaffing! Its magic began, when, in Autumn's rich hour,

As a harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing. There having, by Nature's enchantment, been fill'd With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest weather,

1. Her sun is gone down while it was yet day.--Jer. xv. 9. 2. Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken.-Isaiah, Ixii, 4. 3. How bath the oppressor ceased! the Golden City ceased.— Isaiah, xiv, 4.

Thy pomp is brought down to the grave-and the worms cover thee.-Isaiah, xiv, 11.

Thou shalt no more be called the Lady of Kingdoms. Isaiah, xlvii, 5.

This wonderful juice from its core was distill'd,
To enliven such hearts as are here brought together!
Then drink of the cup-you 'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality-
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen,
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

And though, perhaps but breathe it to no one-
Like cauldrons the witch brews at midnight so awful,
In secret this philter was first taught to flow on,
Yet-'t is n'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 name,
Which may work too its charm, though now lawless
and hidden.

So drink of the cup-for oh! there's a spell in
Its
every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality-
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen,
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

THE FORTUNE-TELLER. AIR-Open the Door softly. Down in the valley come meet me to-night, And I'll tell you your fortune truly, As ever 't was told, by the new moon's light, To young maidens shining as newly.

But, 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, My science shall call up before you A male apparition-the image of him Whose destiny 't is to adore you.

Then to the phantom be thou but kind,

And round you so fondly he 'll hover, You'll hardly, my dear, any difference find Twixt him and a true living lover.

Down at your feet, in the pale moon-light,

He'll kneel, with a warmth of emotionAn ardour, of which such an innocent sprite You'd scarcely believe had a notion.

What other thoughts and events may arise, As in Destiny's book I've not seen them, Must only be left to the stars and your eyes To settle, ere morning, between them.

OH, YE DEAD. AIR-Plough Tune.

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 know your bed,