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The clouds pass'd soon

From the chaste cold moon,

And heaven smil'd again with her vestal flame; But none will see the day

When the clouds shall pass away,

Which that dark hour left on Eveleen's fame.

The white snow lay

On the narrow path-way,

When the Lord of the Valley cross'd over the moor; And many a deep print

On the white snow's tint

Show'd the track of his footsteps to Eveleen's door.

The next sun's ray

Soon melted away

Every trace of the path where the false Lord came; But there's a light above,

Which alone can remove

That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame.

LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS OF OLD.

Air-"The Red Fox."

LET Erin remember the days of old,
Ere her faithless sons betray'd her;
When Malachi wore a collar of gold;*
Which he won from her proud invader;
When her kings, with standard of green unfurl'd,
Led the Red-Branch Knights + to danger;
Ere the emerald gem of the western world
Was set in the crown of a stranger.

"This brought on an encounter between Malachi (the monarch of Ireland in the 10th century) and the Danes, in which Malachi defeated two of their champions, 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 order of knights were very early established in Ireland; long before the birth of Christ we find a he reditary order of chivalry in Ulster, called Curaidhe 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 Bron-bhearg, or the House of the Sorrowful Soldier."

O'Halloran's Introduction, &c. Part I. Chap. 5. The inscription upon Connor's tomb, (for the fac-simile of which I ain indebted to Mr. Murphy, chaplain of the

On Lough Neagh's bank* as the fisherman strays,
When the clear cold eve's declining,
He sees the round towers of other days
In the wave beneath him shining;

Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime,
Catch a glimpse of the days that are over;
Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time
For the long-faded glories they cover.

late Lady Moira) has not, I believe, been noticed by any antiquarian or traveller.

Translation of an ancient Irish inscription upon a tombstone in the abbey of Multifernon, county of Westmeath, Ireland:

A yellow lion upon green sattin,

The standard of the heroes of the Red Branch,
Which Connor carried in battle,

During his frequent wars for the expulsion of foreigners.

It was an old tradition, in the time of Giraldus, that Lough Neagh had been originally a fountain, by whose sudden overflowing the country was inundated, and a whole region, like the Atlantis of Plato, overwhelmed. He says that the fishermen, in clear weather, used to point out to strangers the tall ecclesiastical towers under water: "Piscatores aquæ illius turres ecclesiasticas, quæ more patriæ arctæ sunt et altæ, necnon et rotundæ, sub undis manifeste, sereno tempore conspiciunt, et extraneis transeuntibus reique causam admirantibus frequenter ostendunt." Topogr. Hib. Dist. 2. c. 9.

THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.*

Air-" Arra, my dear Eveleen."

SILENT, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water,
Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose,
While, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daugh-
ter,

Tells to the night-star her tale of woes.
When shall the swan, her death-note singing,
Sleep, with wings in darkness furl'd?
When will heaven, its sweet bells ringing,
Call my spirit from this stormy world?

Sadly, oh Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping,
Fate bids me languish long ages away;
Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping,

Yet still doth the pure light its dawning delay.

*To make this story intelligible in a song, would require a much greater number of verses than any one is authorized to inflict upon an audience at once; the reader must therefore be content to learn, in a note, that Fionnuala, the daughter of Lir, was by some supernatural power transformed into a swan, and condemned to wander, for many hundred years, over certain lakes and rivers of Ireland, till the coming of Christianity: when the first sound of the mass-bell was to be the signal of her release. found this fanciful fiction among some manuscript translations from the Irish, which were begun under the direction of that enlightened friend of Ireland, the late Coun tess of Moira.

I

When will that day-star mildly springing,
Warm our isle with peace and love?
When will heaven, its sweet bells ringing,
Call my spirit to the fields above?

COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE.

Air-"We brought the summer with us."

COME, send round the wine, and leave points of belief To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools;

This moment's a flower too fair and brief,

To be wither'd and stain'd by the dust of the schools. Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue,

But while they are fill'd from the same bright bowl, The fool that would quarrel for difference of hue, Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul.

Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree? Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, If he kneel not before the same altar with me? From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly,

To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss ? No, perish the hearts, and the laws that try

Truth, valour, or love, by a standard like this!

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