In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail,

On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try, Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail,

But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-by! While the daughters of Erin keep the boy Ever smiling beside his faithful oar, Through billows of wo and beams of joy,

The same as he look'd when he left the shore.

Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Through this world whether eastward or westward

you roam,

When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home.

Eveleen's Bower.

Air-Unknown.16*

Oh! weep for the hour,

When to Eveleen's bower

The Lord of the Valley with false vows came;

The moon hid her light

From the heavens that night

And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame. The clouds past 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 upon Eveleen's fame.

The white snow lay

On the narrow path-way,

Where 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 footstep to Eveleen's door.

The next sun's ray

Soon melted away

Every trace on 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 the collar of gold17

Which he won from her proud invader;
When her Kings, with standard of green unfurl'd,
Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger, 18
Ere the emerald gem of the western world
Was set in the crown of a stranger.

On Lough-Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays, 19
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!

The song of Fionnula.20

Air-Arrah, 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 daughter
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 bell 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,
Still doth the pure light its dawning delay!
When will that day-star, mildly springing,
Warm our isle with peace and love?
When will Heaven, its sweet bell 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 who 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 valu'd and tried, If he kneel not before the same altar with me! From the heretic girl of my soul shall 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!

Sublime was the warning.

Air-The Black Joke.

Sublime was the warning which liberty spoke,
And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke

Into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain! Oh, liberty, let not this spirit have rest

Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the west; Give the light of your look to each sorrowing spot, Nor, oh! be the shamrock of Erin forgot,

While you

add to your garland the olive of Spain!

If the fame of our fathers, bequeath'd with their rights, Give to country its charm, and to home its delights;

If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain;

Then, ye men of Iberia! our cause is the same-
And, oh! may his tomb want a tear and a name,
Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death,
Than to turn his last sigh into victory's breath

For the shamrock of Erin and olive of Spain!

Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find That repose which, at home, they had sigh'd for in

vain,

Breathe a hope that the magical flame, which you light,
May be felt yet in Erin, as calm and as bright;
And forgive even Albion, while, blushing, she draws,
Like a truant, her sword, in the long-slighted cause
Of the shamrock of Erin and olive of Spain!

God prosper the cause! oh! it cannot but thrive,
While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive,

Its devotion to feel and its rights to maintain :
Then how sainted by sorrow its martyrs will die!
The finger of glory shall point where they lie;