Oh! the joy of such hearts, like the light of the poles, Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay: But though 'twere the last little spark in our souls, We must light it up now, on our Prince's day.

Contempt on the minion who calls you disloyal! Though fierce to your foe, to your friends you are true;

And the tribute most high to a head that is royal, Is love to the heart that loves liberty too. While cowards, who blight

Your fame, your right,

Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array: The standard of green

In front would be seen

Oh! my life on your faith! were you summon'd this minute,

You'd cast every bitter remembrance away, And show what the arm of old Erin has in it, When roused by the foe on her Prince's day.

He loves the green isle, and his love is recorded
In hearts which have suffer'd too much to forget;
And hope shall be crown'd, and attachment rewarded,
And Erin's gay jubilee shine out yet!
The gem may be broke

By many a stroke,

But nothing can cloud its native ray;
Each fragment will cast

A light to the last;

And thus Erin, my country! though broken thou art, There's a lustre within thee that ne'er will decay ; A spirit that beams through each suffering part, And now smiles at their pain, on the Prince's day.

WEEP ON, WEEP ON.

Air-"The song of sorrow."

WEEP on, weep on, your hour is past,
Your dreams of pride are o'er;
The fatal chain is round you cast,
And you are men no more!

In vain the Hero's heart hath bled;

The Sage's tongue hath warn'd in vain ;
Oh, Freedom! once thy flame hath fled,
It never lights again!

Weep on-Perhaps in after-days
They'll learn to love your name;
And many a deed may wake in praise,
That long hath slept in blame!
And when they tread the ruin'd isle,

Where rest, at length, the lord and slave,

They'll wond'ring ask how hands so vile
Could conquer hearts so brave?

"Twas fate," they'll say, a wayward fate
"Your web of discord wove;

"And while your tyrants join'd in hate,

"But hearts fell off, that ought to twine, "And man profan'd what God had given, "Till some were heard to curse the shrine "Where others knelt to heaven!"

LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE.

Air-"Nora Creina."

LESBIA hath a beaming eye,

But no one knows for whom it beameth; Right and left its arrows fly,

But what they aim at no one dreameth! Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon

My Nora's lid that seldom rises;
Few her looks, but ev'ry one,

Like unexpected light, surprises!
Oh, my Nora Creina dear!
My gentle, bashful Nora Creina!
Beauty lies

In many eyes,

But love in your's, my Nora Creina!

Lesbia wears a robe of gold,

But all so close the nymph hath lac'd it, Not a charm of beauty's mould

Presumes to say where nature plac'd it!

Oh! my Nora's gown for me,

That floats as wild as mountain breezes, Leaving every beauty free

To sink or swell, as heaven pleases!

Yes, my Nora Creina, dear!
My simple, graceful Nora Creina!
Nature's dress

Is loveliness,

That dress you wear, my Nora Creina!

Lesbia hath a wit refin'd,

But when its points are gleaming around us,
Who can tell if they're design'd

To dazzle merely, or to wound us ?
Pillow'd on my Nora's heart,

In safer slumber love reposes;
Bed of peace! whose roughest part
Is but the crumpling of the roses!
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear!
My mild, my artless Nora Creina!
Wit, though bright,

Hath not the light

That warms your eyes, my Nora Creina!

I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME.

Air-"Domhnall,"

I SAW thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay
Would steal before the steps of time,

And waste its bloom away, MARY!

Yet still thy features wore that light
Which fleets not with the breath;
And life ne'er look'd more purely bright
Than in thy smile of death, MARY.

As streams that run o'er golden mines,
With modest murmur glide,

Nor seem to know the wealth that shines
Within their gentle tide, MARY!
So veil'd beneath a simple guise,
Thy radiant genius shone,

And that which charm'd all other eyes,
Seem'd worthless in thy own, MARY!

If souls could always dwell above,
Thou ne'er hadst left thy sphere;
Or, could we keep the souls we love,
We ne'er had lost thee here, MARY!
Though many a gifted mind we meet,
Though fairest forms we see,

To live with them is far less sweet
Than to remember thee, MARY!*

I have here made a feeble effort to imitate that exquisite inscription of SHENSTONE'S" Heu! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!"