WHEN HE WHO ADORES THEE.

Air-"The fox's sleep."

WHEN he who adores thee* has left but the name Of his fault and his sorrow behind,

say,

wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame Of a life that for thee was resign'd?

Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn,
Thy tears shall efface their decree;

For heav'n can witness, though guilty to them,
I have been but too faithful to thee!

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love;
Every thought of my reason was thine:-
In my last humble prayer to the spirit above,
Thy name shall be mingled with mine!

Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live,
The days of thy glory to see;

But the next dearest blessing that heaven can give, Is the pride of thus dying for thee!

These words allude to a story in an old Irish manuscript, which is too long and too melancholy to be inserted here.

FLY NOT YET, "TIS JUST THE HOUR.

Air-"Planxty Kelly."

FLY not yet, 'tis just the hour
When pleasure, like the midnight flow'r,
That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night,

And maids that love the moon:
"Twas but to bless these hours of shade,
That beauty and the moon were made:
'Tis then their soft attractions glowing,
Set the tides and goblets flowing:
Oh! stay-Oh! stay,-

Joy so seldom weaves a chain
Like this to-night, that, oh! 'tis pain
To break its links so soon.

Fly not yet, the fount that play'd
In times of old through Ammon's shade,*
Though icy cold by day it ran,
Yet still, like souls of mirth, began

To burn when night was near:

And thus should woman's heart and looks
At noon be cold as winter brooks,

*Solis Fons, near the temple of Ammon.

Nor kindle, till the night returning,
Brings their genial hour for burning,
Oh! stay,-Oh! stay,-

When did morning ever break,
And find such beaming eyes awake,
As those that sparkle here?

OH! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE ALWAYS AS LIGHT.

Air-"John O'Reilly, the active."

On! think not my spirits are always as light,
And as free from a pang as they seem to you now;
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night
Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow.
No, life is a waste of wearisome hours,

Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns : And the heart that is soonest awake to the flow'rs, Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns! But send round the bowl, and be happy a while;

May we never meet worse in our pilgrimage herc, Than the tear that enjoyment can gild with a smile, And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear.

The thread of our life would be dark, heaven knows! If it were not with friendship and love intertwin'd; And I care not how soon I may sink to repose, When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my

But they who have loved, the fondest, the purest,

Too often have wept o'er the dream they believ'd; And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship securest,

Is happy indeed, if 'twas never deceiv'd.

But send round the bowl, while a relic of truth

Is in man or in woman, this pray'r shall be mine: That the sunshine of love may illumine our youth, And the moonlight of friendship console our decline.

THOUGH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF ERIN.

Air-"Coulin."

THOUGH the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see,
Yet wherever thou art, shall seem Erin to me:
In exile, thy bosom shall still be my home,
And thine eyes be my climate wherever we roam.

To the gloom of some desert, or cold rocky shore,
Where the eye of the stranger can hunt us no more
I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough wind
Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind.

And I'll gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it wreathes,
And hang o'er thy soft harp as wildly it breathes;
Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear
One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.*

"In the twenty-eighth year of the reign of Henry VIII. an act was made respecting the habits and dress in

RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE

WORE.

Air-"The summer is coming."

RICH and rare were the gems she wore,

And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore:

But oh! her beauty was far beyond

Her sparkling gems and snow-white wand.

general of the Irish, whereby all persons were restrained from being shorn or shaven above the ears, or from wearing Glibbes, or Coulins, (long locks) on their heads, or hair on the upper lip, called Crommeal. On this occasion a song was written by one of our bards, in which an Irish virgin is made to give the preference to her dear Coulin, (or the youth with the flowing locks) to all strangers, (by which the English were meant) or those who wore their habits. Of this song, the air alone has reached us, and is universally admired."- Walker's Historical Memoirs of Irish Bards, page 134.

Mr. Walker informs us also, that about the same period there were some harsh measures taken against the Irish minstrels.

This ballad is founded upon the following anecdote. "The people were inspired with such a spirit of honour, virtue, and religion, by the great example of Brien, and by his excellent administration, that, as a proof of it, we are informed that a young lady of great beauty, adorned with jewels and a costly dress, undertook a journey alone from one end of the kingdom to the other, with a wand only in her hand, at the top of which was a ring of exceeding great value; and such an impression had the laws and government of this monarch made on the minds of all the people, that no attempt was made upon her honour, nor was she robbed of her clothes or jewels."Warner's History of Ireland, Vol. I. Book 10,