While gazing on the moon's light.

Air-Oonagh.

While gazing on the moon's light,
A moment from her smile I turn'd,
To look at orbs that more bright,
In lone and distant glory burn'd:
But too far

Each proud star

For me to feel its warming flame;
Much more dear

That mild sphere,

Which near our planet smiling came ;25 Thus, Mary dear! be thou my ownWhile brighter eyes unheeded play, I'll love those moonlight looks alone, Which bless my home, and guide my way!

The day had sunk in dim showers,

But midnight now, with lustre meek, Illumin'd all the pale flowers,

Like hope, that lights a mourner's cheek. I said, (while

The moon's smile

Play'd o'er a stream in dimpling bliss,) "The moon looks

On many brooks;

The brook can see no moon but this :"26

And thus, I thought, our fortunes run,
For many a lover looks to thee;
While, oh! I feel there is but one,
One Mary in the world for me!

Ill omens.

Air-Kitty of Coleraine; or Paddy's Resource.

When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow,
And stars in the heavens still lingering shone,
Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow,
The last time she e'er was to press it alone :
For the youth, whom she treasur'd her heart and her
soul in,

Had promis'd to link the last tie before noon;
And, when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen,
The maiden herself will steal after it soon!

As she look'd in the glass, which a woman ne'er misses,
Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two,
A butterfly, fresh from the night-flower's kisses,
Flew over the mirror and shaded her view.
Enrag'd with the insect for hiding her graces,

She brush'd him-he fell, alas, never to rise! "Ah! such," said the girl, "is the pride of our faces, For which the soul's innocence too often dies!"

While she stole through the garden, where heart's

ease was growing,

She cull'd some, and kiss'd off its night-fallen dew; And a rose, further on, look'd so tempting and glowing, That, spite of her haste, she must gather it too: But, while o'er her roses too carelessly leaning,

Her zone flew in two, and the heart's-ease was lost: "Ah! this means," said the girl, and she sigh'd at its meaning,)

"That love is scarce worth the repose it will cost!"

Before the battle.

Air-The Fairy Queen.

By the hope within us springing,
Herald of to-morrow's strife-
By that sun, whose light is bringing
Chains of freedom, death or life-

Oh, remember! life can be

No charm for him who lives not free!
Like the day-star in the wave,
Sinks a hero to his grave,

Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears!

Blessed is he, o'er whose decline

The smiles of home may soothing shine, And light him down the steep of years: But oh! how grand they sink to rest, Who close their eyes on victory's breast!

O'er his watch-fire's fading embers

Now the foeman's cheek turns white, While his heart that field remembers,

Where we dimm'd his glory's light!
Never let him bind again

A chain like that we broke from then!
Hark! the horn of combat calls!-
Oh, before the evening falls,

May we pledge that horn in triumph round!27
Many a heart that now beats high,

In slumber cold at night shall lie,
Nor waken e'en at victory's sound:

But oh! how blest that hero's sleep,
O'er whom a wondering world shall weep!

After the battle.

Air-Thy Fair Bosom.

Night closed around the conqueror's way,
And lightning 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 crost―
Oh! who shall say what heroes feel,

When all but life and honour's lost?

The last sad hour of freedom's dream ;
And valour's task, mov'd slowly by,
While mute they watch'd, till morning's beam
Should rise, and give them light to die!-
There is a world, where souls are free,
Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss:
If death that world's bright opening be,
Oh! who would live a slave in this?

Oh! 'tis sweet to think.

Air-Thady, you Gander.

Oh! 'tis sweet to think that, where'er we rove, We are sure to find something, blissful and dear; And that, when we're far from the lips we love, We have but to make love to the lips we are near ! 28 The heart, like a tendril, accustom❜d to cling, Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone, But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing It can twine with itself, and make closely its own. Then, oh! what pleasure, where'er we rove, To be doom'd to find something still that is dear; And to know, when far from the lips we love, We have but to make love to the lips we are near!

'Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise, To make light of the rest if the rose is not there! And the world so rich in resplendent eyes,

"Twere a pity to limit one's love to a pair.