The white snow lay On the narrow path-way, When her kings, with standards of green unfurl'd, On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays, t He sees the round towers of other days, BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE EN AIR-My Lodging is on the cold Ground. Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy gifts fading away! Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment Let thy loveliness fade as it will, It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, Where the Lord of the valley cross'd over the As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, "In every house was one or two harps, free to all travellers, who were the more caressed the more they excelled in music."-O'Halloran. The same look which she turn'd when he rose ! BEFORE THE BATTLE. AIR-The Fairy Queen. By the hope within us springing, Chains or freedom, death or life pions, whom he encountered successively hand to hand, taking a collar of gold from the neck of one, and carrying off the sword of the other, as trophies of his victory."-Warner's History of Ireland, vol. i. book 9. "Military orders of knights were very early established in Ireland. Long before the birth of Christ, we find a hereditary order of chivalry in Ulster, called Cura idhe na Craoibhe ruadh, or the knights of the Red Branch, from their chief seat in Emania, adjoining to the palace of the Ulster kings, called Teagh na Craoibhe ruadh, or the Academy of the Red Branch; and contiguous to which was a large hospital, founded for the sick knights and soldiers, called Bronbhearg, or the house of the sorrowful soldier."-O'Halloran's Intraduction, etc., part i. chap. 5. It was an old tradition, in the time of Giraldus, that Lough Neagh had been originally a fountain, by “This brought on an encounter between Malachi whose sudden overflowing the country was inundated, (the monarch of Ireland in the tenth century) and the and a whole region, like the Atlantis of Plato, overDanes, in which Malachi defeated two of their cham-whelmed. He says that the fishermen, in clear wea Oh! remember life can be No charm for him who lives not free! The smiles of home may soothing shine, O'er his watch-fire's fading embers Now the foeman's cheek turns white, A chain like that we broke from then. May we pledge that horn in triumph round!* But oh how bless'd that hero's sleep, And who often, at eve, through the bright billow roved, To meet, on the green shore, a youth whom she loved. But she lov'd him in vain, for he left her to weep, And in tears, all the night, her gold ringlets to steep, Till Heaven looked with pity on true-love so warm, And changed to this soft harp the sea-maiden's form. Still her bosom rose fair-still her cheek smiled the same While her sea-beauties gracefully curl'd round the frame; And her hair, shedding tear-drops from all its bright rings, Fell over her white arm, to make the gold strings!* Hence it came, that this soft harp so long hath been known O'er whom a wondering world shall weep! To mingle love's language with sorrow's sad AFTER THE BATTLE. AIR-Thy Fair Bosom. NIGHT closed around the conqueror's way And lightning's show'd the distant hill, Where those who lost that dreadful day Stood, few and faint, but fearless still! The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal, For ever dimm'd, for ever cross'dOh! who shall say what heroes feel, When all but life and honour's lost! The last sad hour of freedom's dream, THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. AIR-Gage Fane. 'Tis believed that this harp, which I wake now for thee, Was a Siren of old, who sung under the sea; ther, used to point out to strangers the tall ecclesiastical towers under the water. "Piscatores aquæ illius turres ecclesiasticas, quæ more patriæ arcte sunt et altæ, necnon et rotundæ, sub undis manifeste, sereno tempore conspiciunt et extraneis transeuntibus, reique causas admirantibus, frequenter ostendunt."-Topogr. Hib. Dist. 2. c. 9. "The Irish Corna was not entirely devoted to martial purposes. In the heroic ages our ancestors quaffed Meadh out of them, as the Danish hunters de their beverage at this day."-Walker. tone; Till thou didst divide them, and teach the fond lay To be love when I'm near thee, and grief when away! LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM AIR-The Old Woman. OH! the days are gone when beauty bright When my dream of life, from morn till night, But there's nothing half so sweet in life Oh! there's nothing half so sweet in life Though the bard to purer fame may soar, Though he win the wise, who frown'd before, He'll never meet A joy so sweet, In all his noon of fame, As when first he sung to woman's ear His soul-felt flame, And, at every close, she blush'd to hear The one loved name! Oh! that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot, Which first-love traced; Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot On memory's waste! *This thought was suggested by an ingenious design, prefixed to an ode upon St. Cecilia, published some years since, by Mr. Hudson of Dublin. She sings the wild song of her own native plains He had lived for his love, for his country he died, Oh! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest, When they promise a glorious morrow; They'll shine o'er her sleep like a smile from the West From her own loved Island of Sorrow! 'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. AIR-Groves of Blarney. 'Tis the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone; I'll not leave thee, thou lone one Thus kindly I scatter, Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from Love's shining circle The gems drop away! When true hearts lie wither'd, And fond ones are flown, Oh! who would inhabit This bleak world alone! OH! HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE OF OUR OWN. AIR-Sheela na Guira. OH! had we some bright little isle of our own, In a blue summer ocean, far off and alone, Where a leaf never dies in the still-blooming bowers, SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. And the bee banquets on through a whole year AIR-Open the Door. SHE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers are round her sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and wceps, For her heart in his grave is lying! of flowers; FAREWELL!-but, whenever you welcome the hour AIR-Cuishlih ma Chree. COME O'er the sea, Maiden! with me, Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er 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, Come wherever the wild wind blows; But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. Is not the sea Land for courts and chains alone? But, on the waves, Love and Liberty's all our own! That awakens the night-song of mirth in your All earth forgot, and all heaven around us!— No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us. bower, Then, come o'er the sea, Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows! But the true soul Burns the same, where'er 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 wither Each feeling that once was dear?Then, child of misfortune! come hither, I'll weep with thee, tear for tear. Has love to that soul, so tender, Been like our Lagenian mine,* Where sparkles of golden splendour All over the surface shineBut, if in pursuit we go deeper, Allured by the gleam that shone, Ah! false is the dream of the sleeper, Like Love, the bright ore is gone. Has Hope, like the bird in the story,† * Our Wicklow Gold-Mines, to which this verse alludes, deserve, I fear, the character here given of them. "The bird having got its prize, settled not far off, with the talisman in his mouth. The Prince drew |